Language of Love
by Danielawesome
Summary: When French student Kurt Hummel meets the handsome Italian Blaine Anderson on a study abroad trip, will love blossom or will the language barrier keep them apart?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: So this is my first time writing fanfiction and it's actually a fill from a prompt on the glee_kink_meme. It's actually a pretty tame prompt (Klaine with a french/italian language barrier) and considering I'm a language student this seemed like a fantastic idea. I feel like I should warn the readers though that while I am fluent in French, I'm Québécoise, not France-French, so some of the expressions might be a little odd for French readers or French students. Also, while French is my second language (Spanish being my first and English my third, if you can believe it), Italian is actually my fifth/six; I studied it at the same time I studied German, both of which came after Japanese, and I'm nowhere near as fluent, so if you're Italian, cut me some slack and I'll love you forever. **

**Without further ado then, here is the first chapter of Language of Love :D**

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><p>Kurt didn't know what to expect from his semester abroad in America. All he had ever known was his simple life in the French country-side, although he fully resented any implication that he was a country-boy- he dressed better than most boys on the pages of French Vogue, thank-you-very-much.<p>

Despite his fashion-forwardness however, Kurt was very aware that he wasn't particularly well versed in the ways of the world, which was actually one of the reasons why, when his high school proposed a semester overseas for some of the graduating students who wanted to learn English, Kurt jumped at the chance. He craved adventure and travel like starving men craved ambrosia, and he was damned if he was going to let this chance slip him by.

He had begged and pleaded with his father for days until finally Burt agreed to it; mostly because (and Kurt felt slightly guilty about this) Kurt had pulled the "I'm being bullied horribly at school and I need to get away from it all" card. It wasn't a lie, not by any means, but after his father's heart attack Kurt hated putting any stress on his father's shoulders that went beyond "I've got the sniffles" or "I cut myself peeling the potatoes".

So no stress at all, really.

Once Burt gave in however, Kurt's guilt over his Machiavellian methods were replaced with an overwhelming sense of excitement and, yes, anxiety.

Because Kurt _really _didn't know what to expect from his semester abroad in America.

He knew that for some inexplicable reason, he was among only six other people in his school to go on the trip to Washington; he figured that some of the neanderthals that roamed the halls thought they were too _cool_ for foreign cultures, some of them were too much of country bumpkins to want to leave France and the rest of the applicants most not have had the high grade-point average necessary to qualify for the trip. As a matter of fact, Kurt was surprised his step-brother Finn had managed to scrape the necessary grades to go on the trip, although he suspected that Burt might have threatened him into doing nothing but studying since the trip was announced, just so that his baby boy wouldn't be "alone" on the trip.

It was really kind of frustrating how close Finn and his father had gotten since they officially became the Hummel-Hudson family. Kurt sometimes felt that he hadn't so much as gained a brother as a young father, who was just as protective as his real one. He would never admit that he didn't mind all that much, especially given their former difficult past, but every time that Kurt thought about the way that Finn had grown up, and grown to accept him and love him for who he is, he couldn't help but smile.

The other people who had joined them on the semester abroad were Quinn, Finn's current girlfriend, Rachel, Finn's former girlfriend who Kurt was pretty sure signed up out of spite and worry that a semester abroad with Quinn would solidify their relationship to the point where Rachel would never gain stand a chance with him, Mercedes his best friend, Santana- the school slut and bitch cheerleader who for some reason Kurt loved anyway, and Sam, an actual American transfer who jumped at the opportunity to head back to his beloved country for a semester. Kurt was frankly over the moon that the people going on the trip were not only not his tormentors but his friends.

Which is why, when the school mentioned that the group was too small and would have to merge with an Italian study-abroad program, Kurt was kind of pissed.

"Je parie qu'on va se ramasser avec une bande d'italiens homophobes qui savent pas comment parler sans crier ou gesticuler comme des malades mentaux. Ou comment manger autre chose que les pâtes de maman."_ I bet you we're going to end up with a bunch of homophobic italians who don't know how to speak without screaming or without flailing their arms all about. Or how to eat anything other than mommy's pasta._

"Oh arrête de te plaindre Kurt, qui sait, peut-être qu'on va se retrouver avec des italiens aussi beaux que Fabio." _Oh stop complaining Kurt, who knows, maybe we'll find ourselves with italians as hot as Fabio._

Kurt shot Mercedes a look that clearly said "Bitch, as if" in right about any language.

They were waiting testily in the small airport in Normandy for the rest of the group to get there; only Rachel and Sam were still missing. By the time they finally got there Burt and his new wife Carole were suffocating their children in bone-crushing hugs and the same advice they had heard over and over again for weeks now.

Kurt make sure Finn eats right.

Finn make sure nobody messes with your brother.

Kurt make sure my idiot son doesn't kill himself in Washington.

Finn make sure Kurt doesn't max out his credit card in the first mall he sees.

After a few more minutes and rather teary goodbyes on everybody's part, it was finally time to board the plane that would take Kurt on a journey he could never have anticipated.

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><p><strong>So part one was basically just Kurt exposition, and next chapter will likely be just Blaine exposition but fear not Klainers, the Klaine will come. Until then, if anyone wants to beta this, send me a message, for I has no beta (:C) and I worry that it shows terribly.<strong>

**Be kind and rewind review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes: Peo-People actually read this? Alerted? Reviewed? _Favorited?_ Colour me shocked. And ridiculously flattered. Here is chapter two then, I hope you'll enjoy it!**

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><p>Blaine Anderson was very clear about what he wanted out of life, and that was to perform.<p>

He had dreamed of being on stage ever since his parents had taken him to see Arlecchino, Servitore Di Due Padroni at the commedia dell'arte as a young child. One look at the masked figures jumping around on stage and Blaine knew that that was what he was wanted to do; one look at the laughing faces in the audience and he knew that that's what he _needed _to do. He had left the theater bouncing off the walls and begging his parents to let him stay there forever. To get him on stage. To take him to many more shows.

And his parents had agreed.

Well, not to the letting him stay in the theater part, they had managed to drag the screaming five year-old home after a rather violent round of kicking and screaming on the curly-haired kid's part. But after that day, the Andersons signed their youngest son up for drama lessons,dance lessons, singing lessons, and violin lessons, on top of his current piano lessons; they figured that if he had a well-rounded artistic education he could figure out what exactly he wanted to do when he was older.

While Antonio Anderson did this slightly half-heartedly (he himself had wanted to be a cowboy, an astronaut, a fireman and a Jedi when he was his son's age, he figured all these lessons were just a waste of time and money and that this was simply a phase that his son would grow out of within a few weeks or months), Maria Anderson was most definitely the proud stage-mom. She loved nothing more than driving Blaine around for auditions, running lines with him, listening to him sing or play, watching him dance around with a goofy smile on that adorable little face of his, a smile that she knew stemmed from a deep and true love for performing, a love that she knew would never fade in time.

And in that, she was right. At seventeen, Blaine Anderson was nothing more than that same bouncing 5 year-old, stuck in an older boy's body. He never did manage to pinpoint exactly what kind of performance he wanted to focus on or specialize in but his "well-rounded education" did serve him well; he pretty much did it all.

Whether it was a school play or concert, you could be sure that Blaine Anderson would be involved. When a member of the school orchestra fell ill or simply didn't show up for practice or even a performance, more often than not you could count on Blaine Anderson to fill in for his part (considering he was proficient in virtually all of the instruments the school had at their disposal). Blaine had been in a large number of the community plays that his village put on, ever since he was a little kid, and in his later years he had even helped with the creative process, helping to compose for musicals or write dialogue between characters.

Blaine ended up having a bit of a reputation in his village as being the artistic Jack of All Trades, to which he always modestly replied: "not _all _trades, I can't draw for shit".

That easy-going nature of his always won people over one smile in, but lately, that wide grin was becoming more and more uncommon. Word on the street was that not all was well in the Anderson home, and they were right. Tensions had mounted to the point where Blaine was typically seen out an about town at all hours of the night, rehearsing in the community theater he had learned how to break into when he was 9, playing guitar in the little café he favoured in the piazza, waiting tables at his friend's restaurant or playing piano at the lounge bar his uncle had once owned.

He had begun the let his grades slip, focusing his attention solely on his artistic endeavours and his job, to the point where it had begun to consume all aspects of his life. Bags became a permanent fixture under his eyes, his usually clean-shaven face was now, more often than not, covered in stubble and his wild curls, which he bemoaned and spent hours gelling down every day now sprung free (although he did seem to get more tips at his waiting job when the damn things were flying all over the place). His friends began to worry about him, but he managed to shrug them off, telling them to stop worrying, he was _fine. _It was only once Blaine showed up on Wes' doorstep at three in the morning with a bruise rapidly growing on his right cheekbone that he cracked, and he told one of his best friends everything that had been going on.

Wes almost didn't let him go home the next day.

Thankfully, having Wes and of course David (because he couldn't pour his heart out to one without telling the other, it just wasn't done) in on the situation managed to raise his spirits somewhat, especially since they always seemed to know what he needed, even before he did sometimes. Which explained why when their school announced the study abroad trip to Washington, Wes and David both pushed him to sign up, even though they normally would have accepted his "I'm all over the place here, I can't abandon my job/my plays/ my gigs" excuses.

"Basta, Blaine! Andremo tutti in America. Fine della discussione." _Enough, Blaine! We're all going to America. End of discussion._

Blaine gave him a scowl, but remained silent. Whenever David pulled his Italian mother act, you had better do as he says, he had learned this back when they were seven and Wes and he would bicker over who got to throw rocks at cars and who would be lookout.

When he told his mother about the trip, she agreed to sign the consent form, tears in her eyes, but knowing that it would be best for her son to be far away for while, no matter how much the thought pained her.

He was among the few lucky students whose overprotective mothers allowed them to go abroad for a full semester, although it certainly was entertaining to hear their indignant screams from open windows that first week after the announcement. You could almost imagine the other mothers taking notes on the novel ways to tell their sons how they were horrible for wanting to get away from them, the new ways to guilt trip and smother.

All in all, only Blaine, Wes, David, Jeff, Nick and Thad had managed to secure a spot on the trip, mostly because their parents weren't the attentive type; in fact, since most of them were business executives and such, they encouraged the trip and the learning of English.

And so it was that they were seated on a plane on their way to America. Blaine didn't know whether it was the change of pressure in the cabin, or the fact that they were on their way across the world, but his friends had seemingly all lost their prep school ways (and their minds) and were now trying to chat up every single girl on the plane under 25. Blaine laughed at their antics from his window seat, feeling lighter than he had in months but still he wore that slight frown on his face. On his lap was his cellphone, the text message from his mother shining on the screen:

"Prenditi cura di te, figlio mio. Buon viaggio, caro, ti voglio bene!" _Take care, son. Have a good trip dear, I love you._

Blaine knew that his mother loved him, of course, but having a physical reminder was nice. Of course, when Wes and David caught him moping by himself, they couldn't let it slide.

"Stai soffrendo d'ansia da separazione dalla tua chitarra?" _You suffering separation anxiety from your guitar?_

"Puoi sentirla piangere dal compartimento bagagli?" _Can you hear it crying from the luggage compartment?_

Blaine cracked a smile, despite himself.

"Idioti. Lasciatemi stare, sto bene, lo giuro." _Idiots. Leave me alone, I'm fine, I swear. _

And for once, Blaine kind of meant it. The future finally looked a little brighter.

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><p><strong>Because I'm a bit of a masochist, I put in more Italian than French, despite the fact that I'm not fluent. GOOD JOB. If you're Italian please tell me if I fuck up royally, I'd rather spare myself the embarrassment :D Also, I know it may seem like I'm stereotyping Italians a bit (a lot) but this is actually what my Italian family members are like, and I mean zero disrespect to any of the cultures I'm portraying because I love you all. <strong>

**Rooz33- ... I fail. Thanks for pointing it out to me, I feel like a bit of an ass for misspelling Language of all things! XD**

**thunderincrimson- You, my dear, are heaven sent! I feel like I'm really screwing up the Italian so if you want to smack my wrist and point out all my mistakes I would love you for it :D I do find French and Italian very similar (Spanish as well) but I feel like my vocabulary isn't really up to par and that I use expressions and such that don't really exist :S**

**I am a boss Zefron poster (I ADORE YOUR NAME BTW)- hahaha honestly, once you start learning languages you kind of learn how to learn them, so it might seem like some big accomplishments but really, languages are all I do! Je suis contente que tu veuille apprendre le français par contre, c'est difficile comme langue seconde mais c'est une langue magnifique! C:  
><strong>

**Muchacha- I'm glad you like it! The way I figured, Sam was basically looking for any excuse to go on this trip so he volunteered to be a peer translator. That or he pretended he didn't know English. THE BOY WANTED TO GO TO THE STATES REAL REAL BAD.**

**Vamp gyrl- I'll try to keep it awesome, thanks for reviewing! **

**Curled Ribbons- It was a creative prompt, I'm just trying to do it justice! Although I'm not gonna lie, I'm excited to see where it goes too ;D**

**EDIT: Forgot to reply to Incongruous. Irony- Don't worry about asking for more, I am RIDICULOUSLY flattered that anyone would want to read more of my story!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes: Still can't get over the fact that people are reading this, but you would be reading something much worse if it wasn't for the lovely _thunderincrimson _who corrected my awful, awful Italian! Big shout out to her! I only have one line of Italian here, hope I didn't fuck it up :D**

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><p>Everything about being on a plane seemed a lot more glamourous in the movies, but then again, Kurt was probably only remembering the movies where the handsome lead was sipping a glass of scotch in first class, wearing a pressed Emporio Armani suit while flipping idly at some important papers, or classy magazine.<p>

Being cramped in Economy class wearing rumpled clothes and sipping stale water didn't _quite _live up to his standards, but the view... the view was something else.

He had managed to snag a window seat (he might have stolen from Sam after threatening to out his flagrant use of hair dye... _maybe_) and he was currently sitting with his face pressed against the small window. He had always complained about the rolling fields that made up of his hometown, saying that he would have much preferred growing up in a sprawling metropolis, with billboards and streetlights that outshone the stars, but now, at 3000 feet above ground, Kurt couldn't imagine a more beautiful sight than the bright green grass, the soft yellow fields and the blue sky not only above, but all around them.

Tears suddenly sprung to Kurt's eyes, although he wiped them quickly, before anyone noticed. It was stupid to get so emotional over the damn scenery.

"Pleure pas chéri, pleure quand on devra y retourner" _Don't cry dear, cry when we have to return to it_, said Mercedes, holding his hand.

"Je pleure pas, ce sont des larmes d'ennui causé par le paysage. Je meurs de voir une vraie ville" _I'm not crying, these are tears of boredom brought on by the landscape. I'm dying to see a real city. _

Mercedes shot him a soft smile, seeing through Kurt's lie, but decided to go along with the subject change and began prattling on about all the stores they absolutely _had_ to go to in America, all the while squeezing his hand comfortingly. Kurt smiled at her; he didn't know what he did to deserve such a good friend.

The flight was supposed to last six to seven hours and so Kurt decided he could crochet a fabulous new scarf to wear in Washington; he had heard that the weather was usually similar to the one back home but that they were having a particularly rough winter this year. Not that Kurt minded, of course, all the more reason to wear his beloved scarves.

He began his crocheting to the sound of his friends laughing and chattering. A while later, he noticed that Rachel's voice, usually the most obnoxious was strangely silent, and when Kurt turned back to look at her, he found her asleep against the window, tasselled ear plugs and silk eye-mask in place, à la Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's. Quinn, who was reading a book beside her caught his inquisitive gaze.

"Elle a dit que puisque le vol dure six heures et qu'il y a six heures de différence entre Normandie et Washington, on sera tous absolument morts de fatigue en arrivant, sauf elle parce qu'elle aura été la seule assez futée pour avoir dormi. Honnêtement, j'accepte n'importe quelle excuse pour qu'elle se taise." _She said said that since the flight lasts six hours and that the time difference between Normandy and Washington is six hours that we would all be dead tired upon our arrival, except for her because she will have been the only one clever enough to have slept. Honestly, I'll take any excuse for her to shut up. _

Kurt let out a soft laugh and returned to his scarf. He was about two hours in and it was looking pretty fantastic, if he said so himself. He shoot another look behind and let out a sigh; Rachel was probably right, with all the excitement, his friends would all be exhausted when they arrived, but not Rachel, and not him either, he decided. He wrapped the scarf around the ball of yarn and stuck his plastic crochet needle (plastic! As if he could kill someone with a crochet needle!) through the middle. He grabbed the thin blanket that Air France provided, wrapped it around his McQueen covered shoulders (hey, he couldn't have the pressed Emporio Armani suit, but he could still rock travel fabulous, and travel fabulous meant soft, fuzzy McQueen sweaters) and settled down for a long nap.

- x -

Kurt felt something shaking him roughly. For a moment, he wondered if the plane was experiencing some turbulence, until Mercedes' voice pierced through his dreams.

"Réveille, mon coco! On est arrivé!" _Wake up darling! We're here! _

Kurt opened his eyes blearily and noticed that they were, in fact, there. Finn and Sam were taking their carry-on luggage out of the storage compartments overhead, while Rachel was bossing them around. Santana gave her a glare that spoke of imminent murder; Kurt deduced she was probably cranky from lack of sleep. Perhaps just usual Santana crankiness, either or.

Suddenly Kurt realized that he had missed the view of the city from above.

"Mercedes! Comment as tu pu me laisser dormir jusqu'à maintenant? Tu sais que je voulais voir la ville du ciel!" _Mercedes! How could let me sleep up to now? You know I wanted to see the city from the sky!_

"J'ai essayé, Kurt, mais tu m'as presque giflé dans ton sommeil, et je suis pas assez fine pour te pardonner ça, dormi ou non!" _I tried Kurt, but you almost slapped me in your sleep and I'm not nice enough to forgive you that, asleep or not!_

"Ouais, le seul moyen de le réveiller quand il est si profondément endormi sans souffrir les conséquences c'est en lui mettant un café sous le nez" _Yeah, the only way to wake him up when he's so deeply asleep without suffering the consequences is by sticking a cup of coffee under his nose. _

Kurt scowled but said nothing. He had seen Finn doubled over in pain in the mornings enough times to know they weren't kidding. He gathered his knitting, and stuck it in his messenger bag. Finn had already taken down his vintage carry-on trunk, which he offered to his younger brother as a sort of peace offering; it wasn't coffee, but it would do. Soon enough all seven of them were standing in the cramped aisle, bags in hand, waiting for all the people ahead of them to get moving. The previous lethargy some of them were experiencing was being replaced by a thrumming energy that had them bouncing on the balls of their feet; they were _here_. They had arrived in Washington D.C., their home for the next four months! Their coordinator, Mr. Schuester, had flown ahead three days ago to set up their accommodations and would be waiting to pick them up with a bus at the arrivals' gate.

They finally made it off the plane, got their remaining luggage from the carousel and passed the rigorous questioning at Customs. They were soon walking through the glass doors in the arrivals gate, all of them craning their heads to catch a glimpse of their teacher's gelled curls. Unsurprisingly, Finn was the first to spot him, standing in his trademark vest, clutching a McKinley/Dalton sign, surrounded by six boys in blue blazers and grey slacks. It seemed the Italians had beaten them here.

"Vous voilà, enfin! Gang, je vous présente les garçons de L'Accademia Dalton. Euh, ragazzi questi sono gli studenti francese." _(French)Ah there you are, finally! Gang, let me introduce the boys from Dalton Academy. (Italian) Uhh, boys, these the french students. _

Kurt would have laughed at Mr. Schuester's atrocious italian accent, but at that very moment, his eyes locked with a pair of hazel orbs.

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><p><strong>Post-poning the Kaine still! How cruel of me. At least they saw each other though, that counts for something, right? Don't worry, actual interactions will be up (tentatively) tomorrow!<strong>

**Reviews make me happy, and happy Danielawesomes write Klaine faster. This is a proven scientific fact.  
><strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Another short chapter, although I have to ask, would you guys prefer short chapters but pretty much guaranteed daily updates, or longer chapters with day gaps in between? Kinda torn :S Also, from here on in I won't be translating _all_ of the French and Italian because I want people to feel like Kurt and Blaine; like they kinda understand but not really. If you do want the full translations desperately feel free to ask in a PM! **

**PS: Thunderincrimson, if I keep the mistake on the last chapter can I pretend that it was Schuester making a mistake, cause he's as much of a n00b as me :D?**

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><p>All around him, he heard names and basic introductory pleasantries being exchanged between his friends and the students that had just passed through the glass doors of the arrival gate.<p>

They themselves had only gone through those doors about half an hour ago, tired and lugging their suitcases like they were dead weight, on the lookout for the teacher in charge of the Study Abroad trip, a man with whom Wes had been in touch with, as he was their student coordinator.

Luckily for the Dalton boys, their school considered its senior students to be independent and self-sufficient enough to not need a baby-sitter, although the students themselves suspected that none of their stuffy old professors could be arsed to go chaperone them in America for four months.

Wes had talked briefly with Mr. Schuester and had introduced them all in broken french, which seemed almost as hilarious to Blaine as the teacher's broken Italian, but they soon decided that, since this was an English learning trip, they should enforce the primary speaking of English between the two groups. The next 25 or so minutes were therefore spent in stilted English on most of the students' part, while Mr. Schuester (who was fluent, Blaine suspected maybe even American himself) answered their questions to the best of his abilities- some of the Dalton boys seemed to be making up some hilarious "totally English, dude, what are you talking about" words that had the teacher stifling a couple of laughs.

And then, Mr. Schuester cracked a full smile and started waving his arms to catch the eye of one of the tallest people Blaine had ever seen. The boy waved back and nudged the few people around him; it seems the French had arrived.

Leading the pack was a small brunette girl wearing a shockingly bright coat and pulling a massive, bright pink suitcase, on her back was a backpack that Blaine was pretty sure, was covered in needle-point kittens and golden stars. He hoped his eyes were tricking him, for the sake of all fashion, ever. She was pulling the tall guy along while a pretty blonde girl glared at her. The tall guy was carrying both his plain black suitcase and the blond girl's if her matching handbag was any indication.

Behind the trio was another blond, a guy with rather big lips, who only carried a large duffel bag over his toned shoulders, and a tall, gorgeous brunette who already seemed to have the girl-deprived boys of Dalton eating out of the palm of her neatly manicured hands. She was saying something to another girl of their group, a pretty dark-skinned girl wearing a flashy shirt and shoes combination. Mr. Schuester started the introductions when his eyes caught those of the last member of their party.

The brunette was absolutely breath-taking. His hair was perfectly coiffed, even after the ridiculously long flight, which made Blaine suddenly self-conscious about the mass of curls on his own head that dared to call themselves hair, his skin soft and pale to the point where it seemed to glow, while everybody else seemed nearly gaunt with fatigue. His slight frame was covered in incredibly tight black and grey striped pants and a deliciously soft looking grey sweater.

Although it didn't seem nearly as soft and delicious as the boy's lips, which Blaine's eyes darted to for the brief millisecond that they weren't busy staring into the boy's striking eyes. After what seemed like an eternity, but nearly not long enough at the same time, Blaine snapped out of it. He stuck his hand out to the boy, which he in turned grasped delicately. They were shaking hands slowly up and down, as if in a trance.

"Piacere-"

"Enchanté-"

They both let out a breathless laugh at their simultaneous attempts at introducing themselves. Blaine raised his free hand to his chest.

"Blaine. Blaine Anderson. Molto lieto." he said, smiling and gesturing at Kurt as if to ask his name.

"K-Kurt Hummel, ravi de faire votre connaissance", he replied, looking just as dazed as Blaine was sure he looked.

They were still shaking hands, although at this point Blaine was pretty sure it couldn't be called hand-shaking but rather pretty-French-boy's-soft-hand-appreciating. That is until Kurt caught the tall brunette girl's eye and she mumbled something that while Blaine couldn't understand, he was pretty sure was suggestive. Both boys broke apart, blushes staining their cheeks. The boy turned somewhat to the girl and introduced her as Santana, and she proceeded to say something that sounded perfectly pleasant, but judging from Kurt's violent blushing reaction, was most likely inappropriate. Kurt then dragged her away and Blaine went to introduce himself to the other students, ignoring his own friends' largely inappropriate comments about how he should have told them to bring eye condoms because they were afraid they would get second-hand eye-pregnant from all the eye-fucking that went on between the two boys.

His friends were complete asses.

But he couldn't deny that there _were _a lot of stolen glances as the two groups became acquainted, although they stayed on opposite ends of their group. Certainly not so many that there would be second-hand eye-pregnancies though, Blaine was sure.

Blaine was slightly scared for his own eyes however, because every time he locked gazes with the blue-eyed boy, he felt like it became harder and harder to look away, his stomach did a weird flip that felt like the one David had done for one of their performances, his heart began racing and his mouth went dry. He was vaguely aware in the back of his mind that things such a love at first sight were a crock of shit, but Blaine was now definitely a firm believer in attraction at first sight; not only physical attraction, because Blaine had been attracted to other guys before and the existence of first-look attraction was far from a revelation to him, but this deep attraction, the kind that felt like a magnetic force was pulling him to the boy, that was new.

Yes, the need growing in his chest to know everything there was to know about Kurt Hummel, the mysterious, well-dressed, smooth-skinned (and yes, incredibly gorgeous) French student was definitely new, but not a need that would go unfulfilled if Blaine had anything to say about it.

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><p><strong>Bumbumbummm! So they've met. And spoken to each other (somewhat) but at least we know that Blaine is kind of a smitten kitten already. Can't help myself, THEIR LOVE IS LEGENDARY. Which isn't to say that it'll all be sunshine, lollipops and rainbows... :] <strong>


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: I know there are no words that suffice to excuse the three month (oh God) hiatus that this story went through but all I can say is that inspiration died; I literally had no way of getting words on paper and anything I could have produced would have been beyond sub par. **

**Thank you to all those who read and review this story as well as all of the lovely people who alerted and favorited; if it weren't for all the e-mail alerts I kept getting even as I was stumped, I never would have gotten around to writing again, much less writing this.**

**I love you all and I am really sorry for the wait.**

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><p>Their group was making it's way through the parking lot, the Italians chatting amicably amongst themselves while the French did the same, but one of the students at least, was not interacting with the others, and that student was Kurt Hummel. His excuse, if he were to be honest with not only whomever asked but with himself, would probably be that his brain seemed to have melted out of his ears a few minutes ago when the Italian hunk shook his hand. Blaine Anderson. <em>Damn. <em>And here he was thinking that the Italians would all be hideous homophobes. Here he was, _scoffing_ at Mercedes' suggestion that they might not all be trolls.

Well if the smug of on her face was any indication, she knew she had proven him wrong. _Way wrong._

Now, Kurt Hummel had had his share of inappropriate crushes; Jacques with the cool lunch box in grade 3, Francis with the pretty shoes in grade 5, his now step-brother Finn followed by the misguided fleeting attraction for the new kid, Sam, but the thing is that all of those had been the result of time, growing interest and/or growing desperation at being the only out kid and being single, but what he had felt the moment he locked eyes with Blaine Anderson felt completely different.

The romantic in Kurt wanted to call it love at first sight but thankfully for him, his cynical side squashed the romantic one to a pulp.

Kurt couldn't get his heart tread on again, and he certainly could not- _would not-_ let himself possibly think about even the _possibility of love. _It hurt too much in the end, it always did.

So he indulged only in stolen glances.

_You can look but you can't touch, right?_ He could appreciate the package that was Blaine Anderson- in all his tanned skin, broad shouldered, curly haired, defined jaw-line, gorgeous smiled glory- without hoping, expecting or trying for more. He totally could.

At least he _could _ if every glance with the guy didn't feel so damn _significant._

Maybe it's because for once the guy who caught his eye was actually gay this time?

Oh god. _Was _he gay?

Kurt couldn't know for sure; his gaydar was off the freaking charts, but he had thought the same about Sam and considering Kurt had caught both him and Quinn _and_ him and Santana in rather compromising positions, I guess that made _him_ pretty hetero, and Kurt pretty wrong.

So what if he was wrong this time too?

By the time their group got closer to the bus, Kurt had convinced himself that he had just spent 90% of his time in America creeping on yet another straight guy. Which made the whole "look but don't touch and _certainly_ don't get involved with Blaine" resolve a lot easier to commit to.

Kurt nodded his head as if to approve the motion and turned to join Sam and Mercedes' conversation. Once they got to the bus, they all loaded what luggage they could into the designated compartments and the rest to the back of the bus, where Kurt made sure to sit, surrounding himself quickly with his McKinley friends to avoid the temptation of fraternizing with curly haired Italians.

He risked a glance in Blaine's general direction only to find him staring at him with his brow slightly furrowed, giving him a look that was entirely too similar to that of a sad, confused puppy for Kurt's comfort. Clearly he hadn't been as subtle as he thought when he yanked Mercedes onto the seat next to him and Rachel and Santana into the row in front of his.

Kurt quickly looked away from Blaine's- _totally irrational, I mean, we don't _know_ one another, I can't possibly have actually hurt his feelings- _hurt look, and averted his gaze to his shoes. Guilt flushed his cheeks a rosy pink even as he berated himself for feeling contrite over _sitting next to his friends. _

_Man up, Hummel, you're acting ridiculous. _

And with that thought Kurt shook himself off and integrated himself smoothly into yet another argument Santana and Rachel were having over the latter's prudish ways. Always better to condemn Rachel's total lack of sex life and sex appeal than to take a good look at his own.

For all the teasing his friends had done, they all seemed pretty sympathetic when they caught Blaine sending pitiful glances towards the back of the bus where pretty-french-boy-Kurt was sitting, surrounded by a veritable barricade of luggage, seats, and friends. They tried to encourage him to go back there and talk to the guy but considering their suggested opening lines were all variations on the theme of "Hi, you're cute, wanna fuck?", it's safe to say that they were all steadfastly ignored.

After several minutes of well-intended but tragically misguided relationship advice, David got his mother-hen on and got everybody to stop pestering Blaine, finally taking him at his word when he said he was _fine._ Blaine smiled at him in thanks and turned his gaze to the view outside his window.

There really wasn't a reason for him to feel so shot down; so what if the kid wanted to sit with his friends? Blaine was just imagining the way Kurt seemed to be avoiding him, right? He hadn't come on too strong, had he?

All of Blaine's hidden insecurities were bubbling to the surface, clouding his logical reasoning, leading him to succumb to his more natural paranoid thoughts:

_We just shared a few glances, how could that possibly be coming on too strong? But the guys kept making comments about eye-fucking, were we eye-fucking? Did he participate? Or did I just eye-rape him? Oh God, I think I've just eye-raped the single most gorgeous guy I will ever meet, good job Anderson._

Beside him, a still-worried Wes was studying his face, spying the tell-tale look in the boy's eyes that tipped David and Wes off every time Blaine fell into one of his irrational "Oh God I've ruined everything ever, what the fuck am I going to do now that I've effectively fucked everything up" moods. Strangely enough, Wes sent up a little prayer of thanks to whoever would listen, even as he pondered how he would get his friend to see reason once more; ridiculous as they could be, Blaine's little paranoid fits were just so _Blaine_, and Blaine hadn't been Blaine in too long.

Wes sneaked a look to the back of the bus where the guy that Blaine seemed to be freaking out over was sitting. He was alright as far as guys went, he actually seemed feminine enough for even Wes to see the appeal, but more than that, he was right up Blaine's alley.

Blaine might not have come out until recent years, but Wes and David had known about their friend's sexual orientation long before then. The way Blaine followed some of the older kids he performed with when he was a kid, like a devoted puppy dog, had gone a little farther than simple admiration, that much was sure. The way he sent heart eyes over to the handsome teenaged guitar teacher his parents had found him when he was twelve could not have been more obvious if they were cartoons. And if that wasn't sign enough that his friend played for the other team then the stack of fashion and men's fitness magazines Wes had found under his bed when they were thirteen would have done it.

Muscle mags aside though there always seemed to be a particular type of guy who would make Blaine's head turn as they passed them down the street; they were fair-skinned or slight or lightly built or they had sharp features. They were _always_ well-dressed.

Any combination of those features did it for Blaine,but this french guy- Kirk? Kurt? Kurt- seemed like something straight out of his friend's dreams. Or wet dreams. Either way, Wes didn't really want to know.

Regardless, Wes turned his attention back to his distressed friend. Blaine had progressed to twirling-his-curls level of nervousness. Obviously whatever it is Blaine convinced himself he did was eating him up pretty badly; after twirling-his-curls nervous came, biting-his-nail-beds nervous, followed only by combination-nervous which (as the title David and he had come up with suggested) combined all of Blaine's nervous ticks which included pacing or leg shaking (depending on whether or not his nerves had him standing yet), rambling or muttering, curl-twirling or hair messing, and nail-biting.

For a guy with such a smooth facade Blaine certainly had his fair share of nervous ticks.

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><p><strong>Hope you liked, it's a little filler-y I know, but I had to get back into the swing of things. Six and Seven are outlined so hopefully there will not be a three month gap between this chapter and the next. Once again, I love you all dearly and I really am truly sorry for leaving you hanging.<br>**


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: Guys, you are going to be so proud of me. I posted within weeks of the last chapter rather than months? AND the chapter is twice the length of some previous chapters? What has the world come to right? **

**It was freaking painful though, let me tell you. I'm not totally happy with how it turned out either but after working it and reworking it, it was just getting worse so I figured I'd leave it at that.  
><strong>

**If you want to follow my process I sometimes liveblog my writing on Tumblr, my URL is Danielasaurus, follow me if you so wish. As for me? I'm going to bed. See you in the end note.**

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><p>After a twenty-five minute drive, the bus slowed to a stop at it's final destination. The large group of teenagers was now squishing themselves against one another along the right side of the bus, all trying desperately to get a good look out the window to see their home for the next four months.<p>

Kurt watched as everybody pushed everybody else, loud Italian and French curses being spouted here and there as toes got stepped on or hair got pulled. After a few more seconds of pandemonium, the black kid who seemed to be friends which the guy in charge of the Italians (Wes?) and _him,_ yelled something and the Warblers all suddenly stopped their frenzy and hung their heads as though they had been chastised by their mothers. Kurt quirked an impressed eyebrow at the display. He turned to the front of the bus to exchange a look with Santana only to find that she was comfortably nestled in between to Warblers who had given up their prime viewing realty up after a single sultry bat of her fake lashes.

Kurt smirked at the sight and turned to face Rachel only to catch the gaze of one off-limits Italian. His hazel were twinkling with humour. Kurt figured he must have witnessed his reaction to his friend's and Santana's displays. He quirked his pink lips in an entirely too handsome half-smile and Kurt felt his face flushing in a way that he was convinced made him look almost related to a boiled lobster. He quickly averted his gaze, hoping that Blaine would avert his too while his blush struggled to die down.

_Blaine. _

Damn, he was going to have to be more careful about avoiding thinking about _he-who-must-not-be-ogled'_s name, his blush doubled in intensity at the simple thought of it.

_Christ, Kurt you're worse than Rachel was with Finn if just thinking about the guy's name and having him smile at you has you blushing like a prostitute at confessional. Pull yourself together, man._

Kurt glanced a look back to where Santana was sitting, nose still pressed against the window as she commented on the building to Mercedes.

"Bof, c'est pas pire mais franchement je m'attendais à mieux. Ç'as l'air assez vieux mais peut-être que je pourrais m'y habituer." _Meh, it's not too bad but honestly, I expected better. It looks pretty old but maybe I could get used to it._

Kurt raised his eyebrows; high praise coming from Satan herself, that's for sure.

Kurt went to her and nudged her slightly until she got out of the way.

Outside the window, Kurt looked at what was possibly the most charming brownstone townhouse he had ever seen. It was four stories tall with large windows jutting out slightly from what Kurt could only think of as a turret. He could instantly envision himself curled up on the window seat, surrounded by lush pillows, swathed in his favourite Marc Jacobs sweater and tucked under a nice quilt, reading the latest edition of Vogue. The top floor was partially covered in Ivy, winding down at an angle so perfect a counterpoint to the building's architecture that Kurt immediately deduced that it could only have been designed by man; surely, even Nature's beauty had to have limits. The front door was made of polished mahogany, nestled in a small arched nook that came after a flight of cement stairs with wrought iron handrails that brought Kurt right back to France and the classic wrought balconies of the Parisian homes. He suddenly could understand the crazy clamouring that had gone down as soon as they pulled up in front of their new home; it felt like something straight out of a modern fairy tale.

Kurt managed to shake himself out of his architectural wonder long enough to realize that the rest of the teenagers had snapped out of it long ago and were now all doing their very best impression of Tasmanian devils as they ran around to grab their belongings and be the first ones off the bus. Kurt decided it would be wise to remain seated after he almost had his favourite pair of boots scuffed by Rachel's hideous pink suitcase.

_That would have been strike three on her daily fashion criminal record. I actually might have had to murder her then. Or at least set that heinous backpack of hers on fire._

He glared at the _thing _on her back before he allowed himself to turn back towards the window- feet safely tucked beside him as he kneeled on the bus seat- and get lost in the beauty of it all. It truly seemed like something out of a dream.

"Uh, mi scusi, questo è il tuo bagaglio, vero?" _Uh, excuse me, this is your bag, right?_

And standing there was another dream altogether, holding out his vintage Louis Vuiton trunk out to him, with a classy leather weekender bag that Kurt was about 90% sure was this season's Hugo Boss slung over his over shoulder.

"Um, Kurt? È il tuo, no? Non è? Oh Dio, ho rubato il bagaglio di qualcun'altro?" _Um, Kurt? It is yours, no? It isn't? Oh God, have I stolen somebody else's bag?_

Kurt realized that his spaced out staring had Blaine freaking out for some reason, and quickly reached out to grab his bag as Blaine started pulling it back towards him, a panicked look on his face.

"Merci! Merci, Blaine, c'est très gentil de ta part" _Thank you! Thanks, Blaine, it's very nice of you_, Kurt said with a small smile that immediately relaxed Blaine's nervous stance.

The bus was almost empty by now. Blaine was waiting by Kurt's seat, slightly behind it with a arm stretched out in front of him and a smile on his face. _After you. _Kurt stood slowly and smoothed his slightly wrinkled sweater down. He nodded his head once in Blaine's direction, small smile still in place. _Thank you. _

Once in the aisle, Kurt grabbed his messenger bag and put on the pea coat that was draped over the flap. He forwent the gloves in favour of not obstructing Blaine's way any longer, grabbed his things and got out of the bus.

Both groups were busying themselves by unloading the remaining bags from the luggage compartment although there was some mingling here and there. Nick and Jeff seemed to be amusing themselves by talking circles in Italian around Finn who looked on incredibly confused.

Kurt smiled and closed his eyes, taking in his first deep breath of the cold American air.

"Oh cazzo, che freddo fa!" _Oh fuck, it's cold out!_

Kurt opened his eyes and turned to see Blaine wrapping his coat tighter around him and pulling a beanie out of his pocket and unto his head of unruly locks. Kurt thought he might have actually been shivering.

"T'aime pas le froid?" _Don't like the cold?_

Blaine turned towards him, his cheeks flushing a bit and smiling in a self-deprecating manner. When Kurt felt his own cheeks flush in reply he told himself it was from the brisk winter wind.

Blaine brought his hands up to his face and started blowing into them, rubbing them furiously, trying to get some heat into them. Kurt blamed what he did next solely on how pitiful Blaine looked.

"Tiens, prend mes gants." _Here, take my golves._

Kurt reached into his pocket and pulled out his beloved pair of fur-lined leather gloves and handed them towards Blaine, who froze on the spot, hands still raised to his face, eyes locked with Kurt's. Kurt raised his eyebrows and nodded his head a little, shaking the gloves in his outstretched hand at Blaine. _Go on, take em'. _

Blaine reached out with a shivering hand and took the gloves from Kurt, his frozen digits grazing the boy's warmer ones. Blaine put the gloves on, blush still very present on his cheekbones. His gaze found his shoes before looking back up at Kurt's blue eyes.

"Grazie."

'De rien."

"Ehi, Blaine lasci il tuo nuovo ragazzo in pace e darci una mano qui!" _Hey, Blaine, leave your new boyfriend alone and come give us a hand here!_

Blaine blushed, turned to the voice that yelled out to him and shouted back something that had the Italians sniggering amongst them. He then turned back to Kurt and raised his now gloved hands to him in a small awkward goodbye-ish wave.

"Grazie ancora, Kurt!", he said jogging off to help out his friends with the unloading.

The unpacking seemed to go by quickly after that and Mr. Schuester started doing role call for about the fiftieth time since the groups had landed. Kurt sincerely hoped he wouldn't make a habit of it for the entirety of their stay, because he was starting to feel like a tagged animal, being taunted with the illusion of roaming free in the wild. Once Schuester finished checking off everbody's name on his list he clapped his hands loudly and called for attention.

"Everybody! I will say what I have to say in French and Italian but from now on, we are speaking _only in English_! There will be no learning if we simply talk to our friends in our mother tongue! Alors je commence en Français: Cet édifice à cinq étages, la cuisine, le salon et la salle à manger se trouvent toutes au rez-de-chaussé alors c'est là qu'on va socialiser le plus! Je ne veux pas vous voir enfermez dans vos chambres pour les quatre prochains mois!"

_So I'll begin in French: This building's got five floors, the kitchen, living room and dining room are all on the main floor so that's where we'll be socializing the most! I don't want to see you holed up in yours rooms for the next four months!_

"Si on reste dans nos chambres vous ne nos verrez pas de toute façon, monsieur." _If we stay in our rooms you won't be seeing us anyway, sir, _said Santana with her trademark smirk in place.

"Très drôle, Santana." _Very funny, Santana, _replied Mr. Schue, not even glancing up from his notes. "Alors, moi je suis au premier étage, où se trouve aussi une petite bibliothèque où vous pourrez faire vos devoirs et étudier. Au deuxième étage se trouvent les filles; il y a deux chambres avec deux lits chaque. Pour éviter des conflits j'ai déjà décidé qui va dormir avec qui: Rachel et Santana vous êtes dans la chambre de gauche, Quinn, t'es avec Mercedes dans la chambre de droite."

"Mais monsieur-!" _But sir-!_

"Quoi! Mais est-ce que vous êtes _complètement-!" What! Are you _completely_-!_

"Monsieur, vous avez _aucune idée_-!" _Sir, you have no _idea-_!_

"DEMOISELLES, du calme s'il-vous-plaît!" _LADIES, calm down, please!, _said Mr. Schuester, raising his voice over the sudden outcry of the girls. All of the guys, both French and Italian, took a slightly frightened step back from the four, three of the boys looking on with a bit of panic in their eyes, knowing full well what a disaster this could turn out to be while the rest were trying to figure out what it was that had the girls so angry.

"Monsieur Schuester, en tant que la capitaine de notre échange, j'ai le devoir de contester votre choix de soi-disant « colocataires ». Santana et moi, nous n'avons rien en commun, on va finir par s'entre tuer si vous ne changez pas votre choix, et je sais que quand je serais une grande star hollywoodienne je devrais socialiser avec des individus aussi désagréables que Santana, mais pour le moment-" _Mister Schuester, as the captain for our exchange group, I have the duty to protest your choice of "roomies". Santana and I have nothing in common and we will end up murdering each other if you don't change your choice, and while I know that once I become a big Hollywood star I'll have to mingle with less than pleasant people, like Santana, I really feel-_

"_Qu'est-ce_ que tu viens de dire, espèce de-" _What did you just say, you little-_

"Rachel, je sais que ma décision doit vous sembler un peu étrange, mais les garçons seront forcés à partager leurs chambres avec les italiens et donc à se faire des nouveaux amis. Puisque vous êtes les seules filles j'ai décidé de vous forcer à vous connaître mieux; je m'attends à ne plus en entendre parler, compris?" _Rachel, I know that my decision might seem a little strange, but the boys will be made to room with the Italians and to make new friends. Since your four are the only girls in the exchange, I decided to make you get to know one another better; my decision is final, I don't want to hear another word about it, understood?_

Mr. Schuester stared down the four girls and while Mercedes and Quinn seemed only slightly displeased, Rachel and Santana seemed to be physically suffering their silence. Beside the girls though, was Kurt, who picked up on an important fact the rest of the boys hadn't.

"Euh, M. Schuester, vous avez bien dit qu'on devra partager nos chambres avec les garçons de Dalton?" _Uh, Mr. Schuester, did you just say that we'll have to share our rooms with the Dalton boys?_

"Oui Kurt, c'est ça que j'ai dit. T'inquiète, Dalton est une école avec une excéllente réputation en ce qui concerne l'homophobie et l'intimidation en général alors je suis certain qu'il n'y aura pas de problème avec tes colocs. De toute façon, ton père a spécifié qu'il voudrait que toi et Finn partagent une chambre." _Yes Kurt, that's what I said. Don't worry, Dalton has an excellent reputation regarding homophobia and bullying overall so I'm sure there won't be a problem with your roommates. In any case, your father specified that he's like for you and Finn to room together._

"_Il a QUOI?" He WHAT?_, Kurt shrieked, absolutely mortified. He turned to Finn who looked like somebody had just stepped on a landmine. But he didn't look surprised. Just scared for his life a little.

"TU SAVAIS!" _YOU KNEW! _

"Kurt, Burt et moi, on savais pas avec quelle sorte de gosses on serait pognés! On voulait te protéger!" _Kurt, Burt and I, we didn't know what kinda dudes we'd be stuck with! We wanted to protect you! _

Finn had a weird look on his face like he was torn in half; half of him was kinda sorry about siding with his brother's dad over his brother ("Because you can't spell 'bro' without brother, bro") but the other half of him had the same stubborn look on his face that Burt would get when he was talking about how "Kurt had to be safe". At this point Kurt wanted to smash his fist safely against Finn's face.

"ASSEZ! Finn! Tu n'est pas mon père! Clair? Répète après moi: "Je ne suis pas le père à Kurt, je suis son frère". Puis? J'attends après toi Finn. Vas-y. Répète." _ENOUGH! Finn! You are not my father! Is that clear? Repeat after me: I am not Kurt's father, I am his brother. Well? I'm waiting, Finn. Go on. Repeat. _

Kurt stood only a few inches from Finn at this point and even though he should have been dwarfed by Finn's ridiculous height, his anger seemed to have given him an extra three feet on Finn. Either that or the verbal lashing had Finn not only feeling but also looking all of two inches tall.

"...Je ne suis pas le père à Kurt, je suis son frère. Mais Kurt-!" _I am not Kurt's father, I am his brother. But Kurt-!_

Kurt cut him off with a sharp tut-ing noise and an even sharper glare.

"Bon c'est fini la chamaille entre les sœurs ici? Parce qu'il fait froid en tabarnac." _So is the squabble between the sisters here over? Because it's freakin' freezing, _drawled Santana, bursting the angry bubble Kurt had created around himself and his brother.

"Oui, Santana, c'est bel et bien fini. Et t'as raison, il fait froid. J'explique la même chose aux Italiens et nous rentrons nous installer, ok?" _Yes, Santana, it's over and done with. And you're right it is cold. I'll explain what's going on to the Italians and we'll go get settled, ok?, _said Mr. Schuester, not waiting for a reply or even an acknowledgement as he turned to the group of blazered boys and began explaining the house to them in broken Italian.

Kurt tuned him out in favour of lecturing Finn some more about what attitudes and actions were and were not acceptable as a brother and how the position as Burt Hummel, father, had been filled by, well, Burt Hummel. Soon enough though Mr. Schuester was clapping his hands and calling for attention before shepherding the large group of teenagers into their new home. The Dalton boys went in first, Blaine brushing by Kurt briefly shooting him a thousand giga-watt smile as he did. Kurt smiled back more demurely, brows furrowed slightly in confusion over the excessive happiness radiating from the curly-haired boy. He grabbed his trunk and bag and finally made it through the door and into the warmth of the lobby of the house. He looked up and saw raised ceilings and beautiful panneling, not only along the walls but the ceiling itself. From his vantage point he could only catch a glimpse of the kitchen down the hall and a small peek at the living room through the gaps in the curtains over the windows in the french double doors that separated it from the rest of the house. He was about to ascend the stairs to his room when he realized that he didn't know which was his.

Kurt turned back to Mr. Schuester.

"Euh, M. Schuester, Finn et moi sommes dans quel étage?" _Uh, Mr Schuester? What floor are Finn and I in?_

"Ah oui, tu est au quatrième étage, le plus haut. Finalment, j'ai pris en considération ton avis et j'ai décidé que dans l'esprit de mieux s'entre connaître il serait bien de diviser les gars deux à un, Dalton à McKinley, alors tu n'est plus avec Finn." _Ah yes, you're on the fourth floor, top floor. Also, I took your opinion into consideration and decided that in the spirit of getting to know one another better, it would be good to split the guys off two to one Dalton to McKinley, so you're no longer rooming with Finn._

Kurt broke out into a relieved grin. He loved the guy but Kurt could simply not room with Finn. It was a clear recipe for disaster.

"Fantastique, avec qui je suis alors?" _Fantastic, who am I with then?_

"Thad Piventi et Blaine Anderson."

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><p><strong>Show of hands, who saw this coming? Everybody? Ok then. <strong>

**I know it was obvious but I'm sorry, I couldn't resist. (Except that I'm not sorry.)**

** Klaine is now sharing a room. Only shenanigans *coughcoughsmuthoughchough* can ensue.**

**If you like it or hate it, remember that reviews make me warm and fuzzy on the inside :D  
><strong>


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: TADA! I told you all I'd be better at posting, didn't I? Here it is, chapter 7 with more deliciously awkward teenage boy encounters. A lot of people have asked if Kurt and Blaine understood one another and the answer is no, no yet, which is kind of me taking some creative liberty because French and Italian are similar enough that if one person speaks slowly and in simple sentences, the other would at least get the gist of the conversation. But that would just be too easy so, no. They have no clue what the other is saying. I tend to cheat in interactions by doing a lot of "silent conversations" which is just body language which I think people underestimate a lot, and then I add the "english subtitles" because I don't pride myself on being good enough a writer that the little changes in movement alone would be clear enough for everydoy to understand. **

**Long AN is long. **

**TL;DR: Klaine doesn't understand eachother when they speak. **

****EDIT: The _lovely lovely _Paperotta has corrected my dreadful Italian so now Blaine's lines and Thad's are not so terribly written that they should be printed just so they could be set on fire. In my usual fashion I'm leaving Schuester's dialog riddled with innacuracies because he speaks as bad an Italian as I do. (I actually realised some of the mistakes she pointed out to me when I reread myself but I left them for impact.) NOBODY SHOULD IN ANY WAY TAKE WHAT WILL SAYS AS PROPER ITALIAN. PLEASE. Thanks again Paperotta, you are an angel! ****

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><p>Kurt thought his heart had stopped. Maybe he'd had an aneurysm? Maybe a small psychotic break? A hallucination? In any case he could not possibly have heard Schuester right when he'd said he was rooming with <em>Blaine Anderson. <em>

"Euh, M. Schuester, j'pensais que mon père voulait que Finn et moi soyons ensemble?" _Uh, Mr. Schuester, I thought my dad wanted Finn and I to be together?, _asked Kurt, trying desperately to keep his voice steady and sound at least _slightly_ aloof.

Judging from Mr. Schuester's concerned face he hadn't succeeded on either count.

"Kurt, si ça te pose vraiment un problème je serais content de te remettre avec ton frère mais le but de cet échange est non seulement d'apprendre l'anglais mais aussi de ce faire des nouveaux amis. Et puis je pensais que tu serais content de ne pas avoir à t'occuper de Finn pendant quatre mois; je sais que vous deux avez déjà la relation typique de grand frère/petit frère..." _Kurt, if it really poses a problem to you I'd be more than happy to room you with your brother again but the point of this exchange is not only to learn English but to make new friends! And also, I thought you'd be happy about not having to worry about Finn for four months; I know you two already have the typical big brother/little brother relationship going on..._

Kurt stood with his bags still in wand worrying his lip. He _had_ wanted to get rid of Finn. And really there was no reason for him to be so flustered at the idea of rooming with Blaine, after all there'd be another boy in the room who Kurt was sure wouldn't want to deal with his two roommates getting up to anything... uncouth. And besides, having to room with Blaine might be a blessing in disguise; after all, any lingering traces of his crush on Finn had definitely vanished after having to share a room with the guy. Dirty clothes all over the floor and forgotten bags of chips on the bed were quite possibly the biggest turn off Kurt could ever come up with. Maybe he shouldn't be thinking of his rooming arrangement as the fate taunting him by dangling the forbidden fruit in his face, maybe he should see it as the fates dangling said fruit so close to his face that he could see every single little bump and bruise and blemish and remaining pesticide layer.

Okay that metaphor got a little out of hand. Kurt suddenly realized that Mr. Schuester was staring at him expectantly. Oh right, he was still in mid-conversation. Kurt was quick to reply that no, he didn't have any problem with it and that it was considerate of Schuester to think about how Kurt would feel not being able to get away from his entirely-too-protective brother for the next four months.

_He's not a great teacher, _Kurt thought as he climbed the stairs, luggage trailing behind him, _but he does have his moments. _

After climbing the four flights of stairs- _I might not need to add time to my morning workouts if I have to climb these things day in day out- _Kurt was standing slightly breathless in front of the ajar mahogany door. All he had to do was put on a smile, interact as little as possible and get settled in quickly so he could escape the temptation incarnate that was Blaine Anderson. Simple.

With one last deep breath and a set of his shoulders, Kurt pushed the door and took a step inside.

Only to die at that very moment.

Because surely he had to be dead to open a door and be greeted by a half-naked Blaine Anderson.

Blaine had been half-listening to the french argue about who knows what for a while now, and all he knew was that the french girls had confirmed something he had always thought: girls were crazy scary. Thank God he was gay because he couldn't imagine being in his friend's shoes right now; terrified but still more than willing to do anything that might get them in their pants.

Blaine sighed and zoned back out of the rules Mr. Schuester was probably going over in french, knowing that he'd soon be lecturing them in his attempt at Italian. But hey, soon enough Blaine would be the one butchering a language so who was he to judge. He just wished that Schuester would get on with it because he was still freezing his ass off.

_Damn American weather..._

Blaine couldn't bring himself to truly complain though because the warmth from Kurt's fancy gloves was seeping from his hands, deep into his skin and to his heart. Blaine didn't know if his face was red from the weather or from replaying the scene of Kurt handing over his gloves to him over and over in his head. He didn't understand Kurt when he spoke but the image of the french boy holding his gloves out to him with that gorgeous smile on his face couldn't have been a better invitation if he'd started speaking fluent Italian to him. The softness of the fur lining the black leather gloves was almost as soft as the small brush against Kurt's hand had been.

If Blaine didn't know he had to give them back he would never take these gloves off again.

All of a sudden, Kurt's soft voice broke through Blaine's reverie. Blaine felt like one of those sailors in the Greek mythology they had to read for Professor Colleoni's class, entranced by the very sound of the beautiful mermaid's voice, regardless of whether or not he could understand what they said. One word he did understand: Dalton.

He turned to Wes and asked him why Kurt would be talking about him- them. Dalton.

Wes shot him a look like he saw right through his ploy and saw him for the desperate puppy he was. And knowing how well Wes knew him that was likely to be the case. When Wes shot David one of their trademark "Oh, Blaine" looks, Blaine knew for certain that his best friends were onto him.

Wes was going to answer him but when he saw the way Blaine was looking at Kurt- who had begun screaming at the tall fella- he knew he'd lost him. Wes turned back to David with a slightly impressed look on his face; Blaine had _really_ gone and fallen for this guy. They then proceeded to have one of their silent conversations.

Wes shot a quick glance at Blaine and raised an eyebrow to David.

_He's really got it bad this time, huh?_

David raised his eyebrows and threw his head back, pursing his lips in a look of approval.

_Definitely got it bad. _

Wes' eyebrows took on a slightly more worried slant.

_Should we be worried?_

David looked at his other best friend and then at the boy who seemed to have entranced him with a single sway of those fashionably covered hips. He didn't miss the quick looks Kurt kept shooting almost unconsciously at Blaine's direction. David smiled and looked back to Wes, scrunched his nose and shook his head with a smile on his face.

_Nah, I think he'll be good._

Wes and David shared one last smile and then turned back to Schuester who had begun explaining their lodgings to them. All the boys listened attentively to the French teacher trying not to miss any part of the message which might help them decipher his garbled Italian speech.

"Allora, um, io sono nell primo piano dovè c'è anche una biblioteca, dovè vi potete fare il vostro lavoro e studiare. Le donne sono nell secondo piano. Vietato andare nell secondo piano, ragazzi. Um, allora, vi dormirete tutti con un ragazzo francese e con un amico italiano nell terzo e quarto piano. Ho gia deciso chi è con chi. Um, due minuti, devo cambiare una cosa... Ok, allora, Wes, lui, uh tu e David siete nell terzo piano a sinistra con Sam, Jeff e Nick, lei sono a destra con Finn." S_o, um, I'm in the first floor where there is also a library, where you can do your homework and study. Women are in the second floor. Forbidden to go in the second floor, boys. Um, so, you all sleep with with a French guy and an Italian friend in the third and fourth floors. I have already decided who is with whom. Um, two minutes, I have to change a thing ... Ok, then, Wes, he, uh you and David are in the third floor to the left with Sam, Jeff and Nick, they are right with Finn._

By this point Blaine was trying not to hyperventilate. That could only mean...

"...Blaine e Thad, vi siete nell quarto piano con Kurt." _ Blaine and Thad, you are in the fourth floor with Kurt. _

A giant dopey smile appeared on Blaine's face.

_Thank you Madonna. I owe you one._

Mr. Schuester wrapped up his little speech pretty quickly then and he signalled the Dalton boys to go in and get settled. Blaine grabbed his luggage and made his way to the front door not being able to resist walking a little closer to Kurt than was truly necessary and brushing past him. Kurt turned to look at him and Blaine knew the stupid smile on his face must still be there, because Kurt was smiling shyly back.

This was going to be a good four months.

On his way to the fourth floor, every single one of his so-called friends went out of their way to tease him about Kurt, but Blaine was too far in the clouds to pay them any attention past shooting them a still-gloved middle finger. By the time he reached the landing on the top floor we has slightly sweating in thick wool coat, beanie and gloves.

Not that he blamed the gloves for his discomfort of course.

He reached the room to find Thad had already been inside. It was a nice room, very big. More of a suite really. As soon as you entered you could see the huge glass window and the cushion covered seat in front of it. If Blaine didn't know that window pane would be freezing he might have settled down there for the rest of the four months, book in hand, legs stretched out in front of him on the nice long alcove-type seat. Along the left wall were two dressers and a door that Blaine assumed led to a bathroom while along the right were three single beds, separated by classic wooden night stands. Thad had already claimed the bed closest to the door, judging by the luggage on top of the bed, which left Blaine with little to no choice but to pick the middle bed. After all, he couldn't very well stick Kurt between two guys he doesn't know.

Of course that left him sleeping a mere two feet away from the prettiest boy Blaine had ever laid eyes on.

_I think Thad might have planned this. _

Blaine heard the sound of running water and out of the left hand door came out Thad, shaking his hands clean of water.

"Blaine! Bastardo fortunato, in camera con il tuo nuovo ragazzo! E non ti preoccupare, vado subito fuori dai piedi! Ecco, adesso vado a trovare Wes e David! Ciao, Romeo!" _Blaine! You lucky bastard, sharing a room with your new boy! And don't worry, I won't be in your way! In fact, I'll go visit Wes and David right now! Bye Romeo!_

Thad clapped him on the back and was out of the room before Blaine could blink.

Well, then. Might as well change out of his sweaty airport uniform before Kurt got here. Blaine started by taking off his coat and haging it in the dresser that already held Thad's; Kurt could have the other dresser. He stuffed his beanie in the pocket and hung his blazer next. With gloved hands he unknotted his Dalton tie from around his neck and he hung it on the same hanger that held his blazer.

_Thank god I won't have to wear my uniform for the next four months. If I end this trip without knowing a word of English I'll at least have had that. _

Blaine knew he should have taken off Kurt's gloves by now too, but he was trying to post-pone the moment for as long as possible. He untucked his wrinkled white shirt and began un-doing the buttons, concentrating on getting each small piece of plastic from the hole that housed it with clumsy leather bound fingers. He relished each small brush of leather agaisnt his over-heated chest. Good thing he hadn't bothered with an undershirt for the trip. Blaine was moments away from getting lost in a fantasy involving Kurt's leather covered fingers brushing along his skin when a loud thumping noise came from the door way. Blaine turned fully towards Kurt, who was staring red-faced at Blaine, his trunk on the ground beside him.

Well, staring at Blaine's chest.

Blaine flushed brighter than Kurt and he briefly contemplated re-doing his shirt only to conclude that it would simply make his emabarassment that much worse. He raised a hand in a half wave only to realize that he was waving proof in Kurt's face that he was a total creeper who still had Kurt's gloves on.

He took them off in record time and handed them to Kurt, who still looked shell-shocked in the doorway.

"Oh Dio. Devi pensare che sono pazzo. Ehm, ecco, tuoi guanti. Grazie ancora, erano molto confortevoli e caldi, molto di moda anche, ma poi sembri un tipo molto alla moda e mi piacciono i ragazzi alla moda. Oh Dio, che cosa ho detto. Voglio solamente dire che apprezzo molto la gente alla moda, non è facile stare alla moda, e tu lo fai senza sforzo, oh Dio, adesso smetto di parlare." _Oh God, You must think I'm crazy. Um, here, your gloves. Thanks again, were very comfortable and warm, very fashionable also, but then you look like a very hip and trendy guy and I like trendy guys. Oh God, what did I say. I just want to say that I appreciate very fashionable people, is not easy to be fashionable, and you are, effortlessly, oh God, I'll stop talking now. _

And just when Blaine thought he could never want to melt into a puddle and vanish through the floorboards more than he did then, Kurt began to laugh. Loudly, and for so long that tears were coming out of his adorably scrunchy eyes. Blaine is considering taking the next flightout to Italy.

Or Timbuktu.

Kurt gradually stopped laughing like a madman and he wiped at his eyes, still fighting back giggles. He then looked straight at Blaine with a huge toothy smile on his face and he took his gloves from Blaine's hand.

"J'ai absolument rien compris de ce que t'as dit mais j'ai jamais vu de quoi de plus mignon. J'ai un fort présentiment que ces quatres prochains mois vont être très difficles, Blaine." _I didn't understand a word you just said but I have never seen anything more adorable. I have a strong feeling that these next four months are going to be very difficult, Blaine._

Kurt then smiled and put his trunk at the foot of his bed, opened it and took out a fresh outfit and a towel. From his messenger back he took a toilettries bag.

"Est-ce que tu voulait prendre une douche ou puis-je y aller?" _Did you want to take a shower or may I?_

Blaine hadn't moved from his spot in the middle of the room, his shirt still open. He hadn't understood a word Kurt said but he was kind of brain-dead from Kurt's laugh and him _talking to him_ and saying his name. When Kurt's voice registered, standing with clear intentions of taking a shower, Blaine shook his head and pointed towards the bathroom in a clear invitation for him to go right ahead. With a final smile Kurt flounced towards the bathroom for his shower.

Blaine suddenly hoped that when he shook his head no he hadn't accidentaly turned down an invitation to join him in the shower.

Fuck English, Blaine needed to learn French.

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><p><strong>And there you have it. I am probably going to have changed to rating on this by the time anyone reads this chapter because the more I thought about it, the more I wanted sexy-times Klaine over fluffy-hand-holding-pan-to-the-shadowy-curtain-when-they-do-more-than-kiss Klaine for this story. I would say I'm sorry except I'm not. It'll take them a while to get there though so be patient my loves.<strong>

**Reviews make it so that I don't want to blow my brains out every time I have to type a long-ass paragraph in two languages! 8D**

**REMINDER OF THE EDIT: The _lovely lovely _Paperotta has corrected my dreadful Italian so now Blaine's lines and Thad's are not so terribly written that they should be printed just so they could be set on fire. In my usual fashion I'm leaving Schuester's dialog riddled with innacuracies because he speaks as bad an Italian as I do. (I actually realised some of the mistakes she pointed out to me when I reread myself but I left them for impact.) NOBODY SHOULD IN ANY WAY TAKE WHAT WILL SAYS AS PROPER ITALIAN. PLEASE. Thanks again Paperotta, you are an angel!  
><strong>


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: Here is chapter eiiiiiight! And it's longer than usual! And I'm kinda happy with how it turned out even if there isn't much action!**

**But more importantly: I HAVE AN ITALIAN BETA! AHH! She is Paperotta and she is an angel so feel free to send her some love. Didn't use your services in this chapter because there is no Italian lovely, but feel free to anxiously await word from me for the next chapter!**

**On with the story!**

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><p>After physically shaking himself out of his stupor, Blaine opened his suitcase and grabbed a pair of jeans, a dark grey Henley and a change of underwear before darting out of the room.<p>

It was enough _knowing _that Kurt was a mere ten feet away getting undressed and ready for a shower, it was another thing entirely to just stand there and subject himself to having to listen to the running water and imagine Kurt in there.

_Soapy... with water running all over his body... such a nice body._

Blaine groaned and headed down to Wes and David's room; he'd use their bathroom for his now _cold_ shower.

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><p>Kurt was folding his pants neatly and setting them on the sink when it finally hit him. He had just had an almost normal interaction on his part with Blaine. Considering that said boy had been a rambling half-dressed wreck for his part of the interaction mattered very little to Kurt, because all this meant was that he was probably going to survive these next four months! He hadn't stuttered, blushed like a maniac and frozen on the spot after his little laugh-a-thon (he chose to carefully ignore the blushing and the freezing on the spot that had preceded it); he had simply talked to Blaine like a normal human being, teased him a little and gone on his merry way to the shower.<p>

Yes, it might have been a _little _flirtatious but the world hadn't ended had it?

After all Blaine was just _begging_ to be flirted with after that whole flustered, flushed and floundering routine of his.

_And __all__ because __he __was __still __wearing__ my__ gloves. __Well__ judging__ by__ his __tearing__ them __off__ and __handing__ them__ to__ me__ red__ as__ a __lobster, __I'm __assuming__ it's__ because__ of __the __gloves. __That __has __to __mean__ something __right?__ If __he __was __embarrassed__ to __be __caught __wearing__ them__ even__ after __he__ had __taken__ off __his __coat __and__ blazer__ and __tie __and__ was __half-way__ through __taking __of__f his __shirt, __that _has _to __mean __something._

Kurt stepped into the shower, swinging one leg over the edge of the clawed tub followed by the other until he was directly under the surprisingly strong jet of warm water.

_I mean, why would he still have the gloves on anyway? Because he didn't want to take them off, right? Maybe I'm not the only one feeling something between us here. _

Kurt grabbed his travel sized shampoo bottle and began to lather his hair. He thought absent-mindlessly about how he'd have to go to a pharmacy to pick up some more before the week was out.

_Oh god, what if I hadn't walked in when I did? Would he have continued getting undressed with the gloves on?_

Kurt rinsed out his hair and opted not to repeat; his hair was likely damaged from the long air plane ride, better not to damage it further. He put in conditioner and started soaping himself up as he let the conditioner treat his hair.

_Wouldn't that have been a sight. His chest was beautiful, I bet the rest of him is just as sun-kissed, and muscled, and gorgeous, the bastard. _

Images were flooding Kurt's mind as he rinsed off the soap and conditioner; Blaine lying on his bed, touching himself all over with _Kurt's_ gloves, flushed as red as he was when Kurt walked in, sweating and panting and speaking delicious words in Italian, none of which Kurt understood but his own name, being uttered between broken moans. And then it was Kurt's gloved hands touching Blaine, driving him slowly to the edge of pleasure. Blaine shot up his hands to touch Kurt as well and Kurt could almost _feel _his hands on his body.

But that was because Kurt had slowly begun stroking his chest and cock, lost in his sudden fantasies. Once Kurt realized that the hands touching him were all too familiar, his eyes snapped open and he took his hands off of himself as though they had been burnt.

A voice rang out in his head.

_Kurt,__tell __me__ you __were _not _just __masturbating __to__ some__ ridiculous __fantasy __about __some__ boy __you __just __met._

_...no?_

Kurt could feel the bitch glare his mind was giving him. He put his hand on the shower regulator and twisted it until it went from hot to freezing. His subconscious mind may have started something it oughtn't have, but no way in hell he was letting himself finish.

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><p>In another bathroom, a similarly cold shower had already taken place, and Blaine was now occupying his time trying to figure out what on earth he was going to do with his hair.<p>

_I shouldn't have let it grow out so much, I should know by now that if I give it an inch my hair will take a curly disastrous mile._

Blaine kept running his hand through his hair as if simply by willing it, it would cooperate and turn smooth and complacent. He cursed himself for not bringing down his toiletries with him in his rushed escape from his room but then he realized that he probably hadn't packed his once precious hair gel anyway, since he had let up on using it since his current... despondency began.

Blaine's expression darkened slightly at the memory of the incident that had started it all, and at the realization that he really had let him affect him as deeply as Wes liked to think. He ran his hand through his hair again, trying desperately to make it understand that he just needed to control this only little thing in his life right now, he just needed it to _lie__flat._

_This is hopeless. I don't know why I'm even bothering in the first place. _

And then the pair of bright multicoloured eyes that had haunted him since he first saw them just a few hours ago- _good__ lord__ has __it __only __been __a__ few__ hours?-_came back to him, and he knew why he had to make an effort to at least _pretend _like his life wasn't falling apart at the seams. That _he_wasn't falling apart at the seams. He thought of the boy's perfectly coiffed hair, hair that managed to look impeccable even after a _seven__ hour __flight._

Blaine sighed and brought his hand down from his head. How on earth was he going to compete with that? How could he have deluded himself enough to think that perfect boy with perfect hair would want to be with, or deal with, or even _associate _with his curly mess?

Blaine stared forlornly at his reflection in the mirror, trying to ignore the little voice inside his head that was mocking him for letting his hair become an analogy for his insecurities.

Blaine couldn't deal with this, not right now.

He shut his eyes and drew a slow breath, willing himself to stop his downward spiral and to snap on the Dalton mask he had perfected long ago. The bubbly boy he was when he performed or when he was hanging around with Wes and David was not acceptable for the hallowed halls of Dalton; he knew that and had accordingly constructed the suitable persona for the situation: Dalton Blaine.

Dalton Blaine was smooth, Dalton Blaine was charming, Dalton Blaine had everything under control. He smiled with his lips and not with his eyes, because Blaine's natural smile was this ridiculous crinkly thing with too many teeth showing and too much exuberance for a Dalton man. Dalton Blaine didn't get flustered and worried about what beautiful French boys thought of him and of his hair because Dalton men don't have crushes, or sex, or urges to join men they barely knew in the shower.

Dalton Blaine was the perfect mask to put on because Dalton Blaine didn't let himself feel. At least, not enough to let himself get hurt.

_All__ the __world's__ a __stage__, __and __all __the __men __and __women __merely __players. __If __my __life __is __a __play __then __it's __a __commedia __dell'arte __and__ I __will__ wear __my __masks __until__ they __are__ as __much__ a __part __of __me __and __as __molded __to __my__ skin __as __Arlecchino's__ mask __is __molde__d __to __Ferruccio __Soleri._

Blaine took one last deep breath and as he felt his body adapt- his posture straightening, the tension in his shoulders leaving him, his head held tall and proud- before he finally opened his eyes.

The boy in the reflection looked like somebody else.

_Perfect. A perfect boy with only his slightly unfortunate hair to hint at something else._

Before he could start to wish for his once beloved hair gel once again Blaine turned around and exited his friend's bathroom. He thanked his friends politely and left the room quickly but smoothly- looking like he had pressing matters to attend to but nothing so important that it should drastically affect his demeanour. Dalton Blaine's gait.

He missed in his haste the look of worry and panic reflected on his best friends' faces.

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><p>"Tu penses pas que c'est bizarre que, genre, on est parti de France à 1:00 et que c'est seulement 3:00? On a pris, genre, une heure à nous installer depuis qu'on est arrivés de l'aéroport. C'est comme si on a voyagé dans le temps. Ou genre que le vol ne c'est pas passé. C'est come la Matrice..." <em>Don't<em>_ you __think__ it's __weird __that, __like, __we __left __France __at __1:00 __and__ that __it's __only __3:00?__ We__ took __like,__ an__ hour __to __settle __in__ here__ since __we__ got__ here __from__ the__ airport. __It's __like __we__ travelled__ in __time. __Or __like __the __flight __didn't __happen. __Like__ the __Matrix..._

Kurt shot his brother an unimpressed look from his spot in front of his Finn's dresser. Having showered and already unpacked all of his clothes into the empty dresser in his room, he took it upon himself to lend his incompetent brother a hand, knowing that if he didn't, the poor clothes would probably stay in his suitcase until he had worn them all.

"Tu me niases, non? Tu comprends le concept des fuseaux horaires, non?" _You're__ kidding__ me __right?__ You _do_ understand __the __concept__ of __time__ zones, __no?_

"Ah, ouais..." _Oh,__ yeah..._

Kurt resisted the urge to slam his head on the dresser door, stopping himself only out of fear that if he did, he would end up as thick as Finn one day.

_Perish the thought._

Kurt instead ignored his brother and continued to carefully hang and re-fold all the clothes that Finn had carelessly shoved into his suitcase. At the bottom were some neatly folded clothes and Kurt could just picture the scene as clearly as he had been there himself: Carole standing in front of Finn's closet, grabbing clothes from the pile on the floor and folding them lovingly before placing them in the suitcase on his bed, all while chastising her son for being such a slob, until Burt called for something, or the food on the stove started smelling ready and leaving Finn to finish up by himself.

Kurt smiled a little and folded the last shirt with the same care Carole would, telling himself that he was definitely not missing his step-mother already.

"Et voilà! Fini. Range ta valise en sous de ton lit et viens visiter les filles avec moi, j'm'ennui déjà." _And__ voilà!__ Done. __Put __your __suitcase __away __under__ your __bed __and __come __visit __the __girls __with __me, __I'm __bored__ already._

"Euh, ben, j'y irais avec toi mais Monsieur Schue a dit que les garçons sont interdits d'aller sur l'étage des filles." _Uh, __I __would __dude, __but __Mr.__Schue __said __that __the __boys __aren't __allowed__ to __go __on __the __girls' __floor._

"Comment ça que j'ai pas reçu le message?" _Why__ didn't __I__ get__ the__ message?_

"J'pense que c'est parce que t'es gai, bro." _I__ think __it's __because __you're __gay, __bro._

"Ah."

Kurt stared at Finn for a moment, wondering whether he should be offended or not. In the end he figured Mr. Schue's slight bigotry worked out to his advantage since he could go visit his girls and therefore didn't have to spend all his time stuck to his brother or the Italians, so with one last haughty look at Finn he turned around and left with a "too bad for you then" said over his shoulder with a little wave. As he exited, he caught sight of Blaine who had left the opposite room moments before. He looked a bit different though, even from behind. Kurt told himself it was just nonsense before heading down to Rachel and Santana's room to make sure they hadn't destroyed it (or each other) yet. He would kill the couple of hours until dinner time with his girls and forget all about half-naked, glove-wearing, adorably curly-haired Italians.

* * *

><p>Dinner was a pretty quiet affair for all sorts of reasons, but Kurt figured it was mostly because everybody was feeling the jet-forward; even though it was only six o'clock it felt like past midnight to everybody and it had been a long, long day. Even Rachel and Kurt who had napped on the plane were showing signs of total exhaustion, and Rachel liked to appear inhuman in her energy at all times.<p>

Another reason for the silence was that apparently hadn't been kidding when he talked about enforcing the English only rule, but the fact is that at this point, the kids knew very little English at all, so it was mostly Sam and Mr. Schuester yammering about all the sights they'd get to see and what Sam would probably get up to while the kids took English lessons at the immersion school they'd be attending for the next four months.

"I'll probably just stick around to help them out. I mean, I thought about getting a job tutoring some of the other kids to earn some spending money but my dyslexia might make that a little difficult..."

"I'm sure you'll find something Sam," replied Mr. Schue. "Maybe you can get a tutoring job that focuses more on the spoken part of English than the written."

Sam shot his teacher a small smile from his big lips and went back to picking at his food; the time difference was messing with his appetite.

"Yeah, maybe. Thanks Mr. Schue."

"Um, you could help with us Italian students" said Wes piping up from his spot beside Schuester at the head of the table. "We are quite, um, diligent with the literature but the speaking is not so easy. We will you pay, clear."

Sam looked at the Asian Italian in shock, not expecting him to have kept up with the conversation or for him to care about what Sam would do, but after he shook off his initial surprise with smiled widely at the teen sitting across from him.

"Sure! That'd be awesome! And you say 'pay _you'_not 'you pay'. Also it's clearly, not clear."

"Oh no, you are very clear" replied Wes, missing the point.

Kurt looked on from his seat at the opposite end of the table, as their stilted conversation continued with a smile on his lips. He was glad Sam was making friends and that he had found himself a sort of job; he knew it hadn't been easy on his family to pay for the trip. His smiled slipped a bit once he looked a few seats down at Blaine.

He looked different, but Kurt couldn't put his finger on _how._He thought he'd been imagining things when he saw him leave his friends' and Sam's rooms earlier this afternoon but now he knew he had been right. It looked like Blaine was... restrained, or muffled maybe. Like he wasn't being himself, even though Kurt, who had had all of three interactions with the man, could hardly be called an expert on how Blaine _is._ Regardless, Kurt's line of sight kept wandering over to Blaine's spot at the middle of the table, watching him slice the chicken they were eating with the utmost care and precision, and bring the small bites to his mouth with a grace that seemed beyond his years, a grace not meant to be had by stumbling awkward teenagers who blushed beautiful when they were caught stripping his clothes with borrowed gloves still on.

Kurt was puzzled as to why this bothered him so much.

"Alors, Kurt, um, you uh, merde, need buy... shampoing?"

"Shampoo, Rachel, it's shampoo in English", offered Sam from the end of the table.

"Oui, uh, yes. Shampoo? At la pharmacie?"

"Yes, sinon-"

"Otherwise, Kurt", said Sam.

"_Otherwise,_ my hair will souffrir."

"Suffer."

"_Merci,_ Sam."

"You're welcome", said the blond, either oblivious to the other's irritation or deftly ignoring it.

"The your hair is, um, pretty", said a voice from the middle of the table in a soft tone that seemed as though it hadn't meant to speak at all.

When Kurt saw Blaine's slightly surprised look he figured it must have surprised him too.

"Merci. Yours are more though," Kurt replied, blushing to the tip of his ears. He took a strand of his hair and twirled it in a pale imitation of Blaine's bouncy head of hair to try and convey the message that he liked his curly locks.

The weird muffled or restrained look to Blaine slipped a little and Kurt saw his eyes shining brightly for a moment, before the light was snuffed out and Blaine replied with a smile.

But his eyes remained impassive and Kurt didn't get a glimpse of the boy's pearly white teeth. Kurt looked down at his food and continued eating in silence.

No matter how handsome it was, Kurt decided he didn't like that smile on Blaine's face.

* * *

><p>That night, everybody crashed the minute their heads hit the pillow, regardless of the early hour. Kurt had changed into his pyjamas in the bathroom after Thad had his turn, and by the time Blaine had exited the bathroom himself, both boys were fast asleep.<p>

Blaine didn't stay awake tossing and turning about how he was sleeping next to what could very well be the boy of his dreams. Dalton Blaine was still there, the mask easier to keep on when he didn't wash it away along with his hair gel for the night.

And if he spent the night dreaming about soft pale skin, leather gloves and blue eyes, Blaine told himself it didn't reflect on his skills as an actor.

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><p><strong>And there you have it! As a side note, Soleri is a commedia dell'arte <em>genius<em> who has been playing the role of Arlecchino in Arlecchino, Servitore di due Padroni for almost sixty years! The guy is almost 81 and he still jumps around on stage with ASTOUNDING physical dexterity and strength. I was completely blown away when I got a chance to see him perform when the Picolo ****Teatro ****toured to Montreal. A living legend, in my book. I also got a chance to talk to some of the actors and the director and even got a chance to look at their masks _in the flesh. _It's been three years and I'm still freaking out.**

**Reviews are love!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: I am sorry for the delay, I know I said I'd try for the weekend or before since I had a crazy three day rager to attend (at which I had a wonderful time for the parts I can remember, thank you very much) but yeah, I was drinking on the weekend/Friday, Sunday I was hungover as fuck and then I had classes Monday, wrote Tuesday and wrapped it up in a neat little bow for today! Longer than usual once again (you're welcome) especially since a certain someone finally came into the story and she talks a lot. Very hard to write that one. Tell me what you think in a review, they warm my heart like nothing else! **

**Enjoy!  
><strong>

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><p>10 AM the following day found the group of foreign teenagers standing in front of the relatively modern building that would become their school for the duration of their stay in America. Despite Mr. Schuester's best intentions and his attempts to get the French and Italian groups to interact during breakfast this morning, both groups were still very much segregated, the French chattering amongst themselves, standing around looking rather bored to Schue's right while the Italians stood attentively, almost as though they were in formation, to Mr. Schuester's right, hardly speaking at all. Will told himself that it was unavoidable that the groups would find it a little difficult to mesh at first; to be expected really, what with them being unable to communicate and coming from such different academic backgrounds. Not that he thought badly of the school he taught in, McKinley was definitely a good enough school in general- bullying problems and the student's proclivity to use their school supplies primarily as weapons aside- but Dalton seemed to be the epitome of the posh prep-school, its students all looking like the very picture of success in academia. In fact one of the Italian students, the one representing the group, was wearing his uniform even though there was no need to do so for their stay in America.<p>

Will let out a small defeated sigh. There was probably no way this group would become unified in the way he had hoped. He turned around to call the groups to order when he caught sight of one of his students.

Kurt was standing on the very fringes of the French group's circle, listening with half an ear to what was being said by Rachel, but his attentions seemed to be very focused on something else. Or rather _someone_ else. This someone being one of the Italians students who all the other boys seemed to gravitate around. Mr. Schuester recognized him as Blaine Anderson, one of Kurt's roommates. For a brief moment, Will thought that maybe there had been a problem last night or this morning that might need addressing- Will had been very worried about how others would treat Kurt, especially since he had to live with them and he couldn't get away at the end of the day from any potential tormentors- before he realized that Kurt wasn't the only one hanging out at the edge of his group. Blaine Anderson seemed to be shifting infinitesimally closer to Kurt with every shift of his weight, every small jump in place to keep himself warm.

Kurt was staring at him with a slightly furrowed brow, as if trying very hard to solve a puzzle, whereas Blaine seemed to be making a very valiant effort not to look at Kurt at all. So much so that the fact that he _wasn't_ looking at Kurt became conspicuous. Kurt seemed to realize this shortly after Will did, and he turned back fully to Rachel, although he still didn't seem to be paying much attention to the small girl's ramblings. Not that Will could blame him. He opened his mouth to call for order once again when this time he noticed a brief longing look shot directly at the back of Kurt's head.

Will then smiled to himself. Perhaps he had been too quick to think that there would be no unity between the two groups after all.

* * *

><p>The groups had finally made it to the classroom where they were expected, only to find themselves waiting for their guide to show up, 5 minutes late.<p>

"Hi, are you Europeans? Because the kitchen gnomes told me there was no such thing as Europe Beans and that I had to come here instead..."

All fourteen people in the room stared at the blond new-comer standing in the doorway, all of them slightly perplexed and questioning their already shoddy grasp of the English language as they tried to make sense of the girl's words.

"Uh, yeah, my name is William Schuester, I am the teacher responsible for the McKinley and Dalton foreign students. I thought we were supposed to be meeting with Principal Sylvester?"

"Coach was busy yelling at students who were eating solid foods so she sent me. I'm Brittany S. Pierce. Britney Spears. Bitch."

Sam and Will were both staring at the girl in front of them with flabbergasted expressions on their face while the rest of the students had pretty much fazed her out, convinced that their English was probably too poor to make sense of what she was saying.

"Uh...right. So, Brittany, you're going to give us the tour of the school?", asked a perplexed Sam.

"I would but the halls are always changing like the stairs at Hogwarts so I get lost sometimes."

A long pause followed Brittany's reply and Mr. Schue was trying desperately to figure out if the girl was pulling a trick on him because he was new meat there of the she really believed everything she was saying. Once again Sam picked up the ball in the conversation.

"Makes sense. That must be hard for you, uh, Brittany, was it?"

"It's Brittany...Bitch."

"Right."

It seemed even Sam was stumped then so Mr. Schue was forced to take an executive decision regarding Brittany's intellect and intentions and just go with it.

"Well Brittany, could you give us the rules of the school then? To give us an idea of what the kids are going to be doing for the next four months? Sam, you translate for the McKinley kids, I'll translate for the Italians..."

"Ok, well, since this is a school, you are gonna be doing school things like making out with people, and dancing and listening to Coach Sylvester when she tells you to climb into a canon", said Brittany, ticking the things off of her fingers as she rattled them off.

Sam and Will exchanged a look.

"On vas passer les quatres prochains mois à étudier." _We__ are __going __to __study__ for __the __next __four __months._

"Studieremo per i prossimi quattro mesi." __We__ are __going __to __study__ for __the __next __four __months.__

"There are also classes, but I don't really understand what's going on in them most of the time because in the morning all the people in the classes are still not awake yet so their alien language translators don't work and they just speak in weird tongues while warming up their English by repeating words after the teacher."

Sam and Will looked like they were going to lose their eyebrows into their hairline if they became any more astounded. Another look was exchanged.

"Les cours d'anglais sont l'avant-midi." _English__ classes __take __place __in __the__ morning._

"I corsi d'inglese sono prima di mezzogiorno." __English__ classes __take __place __in __the__ morning.__

"Then the kitchen gnomes give us the food they prepared in the morning in exchange for money, but I think they are being held in slavery because I don't think gnomes use money, they just live in the kitchen. I keep telling them that they have rights and that I want to pay them in food or hugs but they get angry after a while and they don't feed me then. When that happens I get really sad and I can't pay attention to the classes after but they are usually talking in numbers or about things that happened a long time ago so I wouldn't understand anyway. Some days though we make food in class and then I am happy. Or when we cook with things that aren't food but there are pretty flames that I'm not allowed to play with anymore. The best days are when we get to run around and play sports or sing though."

Will and Sam were keeping track of what Brittany was saying all the while trying to decode it.

"So math, history, chemistry..."

"Home ec, phys ed and music, right."

Both men relayed the afternoon classes they would be taking after lunch in the cafeteria to their designated groups.

"After that I have cheerleading but I don't think you are all cheerleaders so I think you get to go home or do other stuff."

"Après les cours vous pouvez prendre des cours extracurriculaires, ou faire des sports." _After__ lessons __you __can __take __up __some __extracurriculars __or __sports._

"Dopo le lezioni potete partecipare ai corsi extracurriculari. o fare sport." __After__ lessons __you __can __take __up __some __extracurriculars __or __sports.__

"Do you need to know what I do outside of class time too?", asked Brittany.

"No I think this should cover it. Thank you Brittany for your uh, thorough explanations," replied Mr. Schue looking pleased with himself at finding a politically correct way of describing the girl's ramblings. He turned to the students.

"Any questions? Des questions? Domandi?"

"Non, je pense que vous avez été assez clairs, Sam, M. Schue. Uh, _thank __you __Brittany,_" said Rachel in a heavily accented English.

"Tank you too, I guess," replied Brittany, looking slightly more confused than her usual self.

"Now I'm going to say this in English and then I'll translate in to French and Italian to make sure you all understand me! Right now it's almost noon so I'm going to let you all roam free for lunch and for the rest of the afternoon! I know most of you are still tired from yesterday and from the time change, so dinner will be served at five back at the house. Be sure to keep you phones on you at _all __times_ and to call me if you get lost. Also, please stick together, I don't want little lost lambs, so groups of 3 _minimum, _ok? Lastly, I would like for there to be at least one person in each group with at least a rudimentary understanding of English so please make sure to talk to each other and figure something out. Sam, stick with Finn, I know he doesn't know _any_ English."

'Sure thing Mr. Schue. Want me to translate for the French again?"

"Yeah, thanks Sam I'll tell the Italians."

Sam turned to his friends and began to relay the message.

"Ok alors M. Schuester nous a donné l'après-midi libre pour aller manger et explorer la ville ou quoique ce soit. Le souper est à la maison, à 17 heures alors soyez-y. Il veut qu'on se mette en groupes de trois minimum avec au moins une personne qui puisse parler et comprendre un peu d'anglais. Finn, mec, j'suis avec toi. Aparts de ça il veut qu'on ai nos cellulaires avec nous en tout temps, comme si on fesait pas ça déjà, et qu'on l'appelle si on se perd. Au pire si vous vous perdez on habite sur la rue President Kennedy et Maple Road alors prenez un taxi si vous vous savez pas comment rentrer à la maison. Vous aves tous vos mappes?" _Ok, so, Mr. Schuester basically just gave us the afternoon off to go have lunch and to see the city, or whatever. Dinner is at 5 at home so be there. He wants us to be in groups of 3 at least and for one of us at least to have some basic English. Finn, dude, I'm with you. Aside from that he wants us to have our phones on us at all time, as if we didn't already, and to call him if we get lost. Worst off, if you get lost, we live on President Kennedy and Maple Road so hail a cab if you don't know how to get back. You all have your maps?_

"Ouais, ouais, Bieber, on a nos mappes, tu peux arrêter avec ta petite routine de prof." _Yeah, yeah, Bieber, we got our maps, you can stop with that whole teacher routine now.  
><em>

Sam ignored Santana's comments.

"Super alors! Mercedes, je sais que ton anglais se limite à des chansons de Tina Turner alors tu peux te joinndre à moi et à Finn si tu veux." _Awesome then! Mercedes I know your English is basically limited to Tina Turner songs so you can join me and Finn if you like._

Mercedes shot the blond a shy smile and nodded her head yes. Quinn also wanted to go with them to be with her boyfriend, and obviously Rachel tagged along to keep an eye on the two. They quickly stood up, arguing amongst themselves already and made their way out the door, forgetting Santana and Kurt behind.

"C'est toi et moi, Princesse Arc-en-ciel." _It's__ you__ and__ me __Rainbow__ Princess._

"Tu parles tu un peu d'anglais, Satan?" _You __speak __any __English, __Satan?_

"Assez pour pogner des gars et commander une bière. Toi?" _Enough __to __pick __up __guys __and __order __a__ beer. __You?_

"Assez pour discuter les nouveautés dans Vogue." _Enough__ to __discuss __the __new __releases__ in __Vogue._

"Alors on est dans la merde, quoi." _So__ we're__ pretty __much__ fucked__ then._

"Plus ou moins, ouais." _More__ or__ less, __yeah._

They remained seated at their spot until Mr. Schuester caught sight of them.

"Santana! Kurt! Vous êtes seulement deux? Joignez vous au groupe ici, ils sont deux aussi." _Santana!__ Kurt! __You __guys __are __only __two? __Join __this __group__ here __they __are __two __also._

Mr. Schuester was pointing at Wes, the boy in the Dalton uniform _still _and of course, Blaine Anderson.

_Because__ life __doesn't __give __me __any __breaks,__ does __it,_ thought Kurt to himself, ignoring the other voice in his head saying that being in a group with Blaine for the enitre afternoon was not only life cutting him a break but handing him a gift.

Regardless of what he might have thought, Kurt and Santana stood up and made their way to the two boys who were whispering frantically between them.

"On vous dérange pas trop j'espère?" _We're __not __bothering __you__ boys _too _much__ I__ hope?, _asked Santana in her best sultry voice with a bat of her fake lashes.

Obviously she wasn't planning on paying for her lunch.

"English Santana! Fais un effort!" interjected Mr. Schuester.

"Ok, ok, oui. Yes. Whatever."

Kurt smiled to himself. Figures "whatever" would be one of the few words in Santana's vocabulary.

"So, um, which between you English?" asked Kurt, wondering if he was making a fool of himself by messing up in front of Blaine. Blaine who was probably fantastic in English already and saw Kurt for the country kid that he was.

"I speak a little of English," answered Wes. "Blaine is, um, hopeless?"

Blaine rolled his eyes at his friends and said something in Italian that clearly meant he got the gist of the conversation. He turned to the group at large.

"We go lunch now?"

He shot a smile to Kurt and Santana and while part of him certainly melted, he couldn't shake the feeling that he _really_didn't like this smile. It wasn't that it looked fake or disingenuine, it just looked... off. Wrong on Blaine's expressive face.

"Yeah, let's go."

* * *

><p>The four teenagers were walking down the street the school was on. They'd been walking for about 5 minutes and their group had kind of segmented into two, Kurt and Santana leading the way while Blaine and Wes trailed behind. Not that Wes seemed to mind because he hadn't taken his eyes off of Santana's bare legs and mini-dress covered ass since she stepped in front of him. Blaine didn't know <em>how <em>the girl wasn't a block of ice, he was wearing his thickest jeans, a shirt, a cardigan and his jacket and he was still cold. He had found his own gloves but he couldn't help but think that Kurt's were warmer.

"Continuo a pensare che voi ragazzi l'abbiate fatto di proposito." _I__ still __think__ you__ guys __did __this __on__ purpose._

"Sciocchezze. É assolutamente una coincidenza." _Nonsense.__ It__ was __a__ total __coincidence._

"Una coincidenza che tutto ad un tratto David doveva aiutare Thad a tradurre per Nick e Jeff, anche se lui fa schifo quanto me? E sempre per coincidenza tu e io ci troviamo ad andare con Kurt e quella strafiga "_ A coincidence that all of a sudden David needed to help Thad translate for Nick and Jeff even though he is as bad as I am? And coincidentally you and I had to pair up with Kurt and the hot girl?  
><em>

Blaine was giving Wes a hard look that he refused to acknowledge.

"Mi mancano le ragazze. Perché studiamo in una scuola per ragazzi? Guardi che gambe..." _I miss girls. Why do we go to a school for boys? Look at her legs..._

Blaine rolled his eyes and let his gaze wander to the back of Kurt's head. He knew his friends had plotted for them to end up together, no matter how much they denied it or deflected. He was touched that his friends would go to the trouble to set him up with another boy, especially due to everything that had been going on at home in Italy, but he couldn't help but be slightly miffed. He couldn't be the perfect Dalton boy he needed to be _and_ be around Kurt. Kurt seemed to bring out the crazy lovestruck boy inside Blaine without even trying, and if Blaine was being honest, it scared him. He _needed_ his masks and he needed them to stay put, not to have them pulled off by a boy with too pretty eyes and too warm gloves.

Blaine sighed and continued walking along the street.

* * *

><p>"Je sais qu'il ne fait pas aussi froid ici qu'en France récemment mais la mini-jupe c'est un peu trop, même pour toi. Au moins porte un manteau qui couvre tes jambes!" <em>I know that it isn't as cold here as it's been in France lately, but the mini-skirt is a bit much, even for you. At least wear a coat that'll cover your legs!<em>

"Princesse, le but c'est de _montrer _mes jambes. On est entourés d'Italiens qui vont à une école privée; si je porte mes jupes je n'aurai pas besoin de me payer quoique ce soit. Dieu soit loué pour les gosses hormonaux." _Princess the point is to show off my legs. We are surrounded by private school Italian boys, if I wear my skirts I won't have to buy anything for myself. Praise the lord for hormonal boys._

Kurt rolled his eyes at Santana but he couldn't fight the small fond smile on his lips. This was the Santana he loved, through and through. He couldn't help but admire her Machiavellian ways actually, and he found himself wondering if Blaine would be the kind to pay for him if he wore his absolute tightest skinny jeans.

And then he realized what he was thinking and almost slapped himself. Santana took one look at his flushed face and like the freakishly psychic that she was about all things even remotely sexual, she immediately guessed correctly as to what he was blushing about.

"Tu pense à ton nouveau jouet? Il est mignon Kurt, un spécimen vraiment délicieux. Dommage qu'il est gai mais qu'est on peut faire, non?" _ou thinking about your new toy? He's cute Kurt, truly delicious specimen. Too bad he's gay but what are you gonna do, right?_

Kurt blushed further.

"Yé pas gai, Santana, tu n'as aucune manière de le savoir." _He's not gay, Santana, you have no way of knowing that._

"Ah non? Parce que son ami n'a pas arrêter de me matter le cul depuis qu'on les a dépassé et le hobbit passe son temps a regarder le derrière de ta tête. C'est bon à savoir, il aime probablement niquer en levrette." _Don't I? Because his friend hasn't stopped staring at my ass since we passed them and the hobbit has just been staring at the back of your head. Good thing to know, probably means he likes fucking doggy-style._

"SANTANA!"

Kurt smacked Santana on the arm and stared appalled at her as she walked away cackling maniacally. Kurt was just frozen in his mortification in the middle of the sidewalk. That or all the blood in his legs had rushed to his face and neck and they could simply not walk anymore.

"Are ok, Kurt?", asked the warm voice he was growing to love. Blaine's honey brown eyes stared at him with slightly worried brows but a generally amused glint in his eyes.

"Yes," breathed Kurt, bringing a hand to cover his blushing face. "I'm ok".

Santana had walked into what seemed to be a chain-restaurant place that served sandwiches. Through the window, Kurt could see that Wes was already taking out his wallet as Santana perused the menu hanging over head.

Blaine shot his a small smile that while not Kurt's favorite blindingly enthusiastic smile didn't seem to be his weird muted smile and Kurt shot a small one right back.

Blaine reached behind him and opened the door for Kurt, gesturing for him to go in.

Kurt felt a rush of warmth at the small inane gesture, one of simple politeness and kindness and yet one he was entirely unaccostomed to. His smile grew wider as he passed Blaine on his way in.

He'd get to the bottom of Blaine yet.

* * *

><p>After lunch, Kurt dragged Santana along to the nearest pharmacy he could find to look for his very much needed hair products. When he walked next to a Walgreens he almost passed out.<p>

Pharmacies in France had nothing on American ones. This was practically a mall.

"God bless America," he said, quirking a brow at Santana who was trying her best to look thoroughly unimpressed but whose gaze kept flitting to the gigantic make up section.

"Pas pire." _Not __bad._

They entered the store with the two Dalton boys following slightly behind them still. Lunch had been a relatively quiet affair with very little broken English exchanged, but they were now a little more comfortable around each other. Santana made a beeline for the cosmetics, Wes following her like a lost puppy, while Kurt walked the aisles looking for the shampoo. He finally found it and stared in shock and awe at the sheer amount of products lining the shelves. A low whistle was let out behind him.

Kurt turned to look at Blaine who looked just as impressed as he was.

"Incroyable, hein?" _Incredible, __huh?_

"Veramente increbilibe." _Really __incredible._

Both boys walked the long aisle in an easy silence grabbing bottles from the shelf every once in a while to read the label carefully to try and make out what set it apart from others. A difficult task when you don't understand 80% of what's written on the label.

Blaine eventually quit and decided to pick one by smell, so he walked along the aisle grabbing the shampoo bottles, opening them and bringing them to his nose for a sniff.

He did this a few times before taking the bottle and handing it toward Kurt who was determined to figure out what exactly he'd be putting in his hair.

"Smell?"

"Quoi?"

"Smell! You like?", Blaine was shoving the bottle under Kurt's nose with an entirely too hopeful look in his eye. Like a little kid showing off his new macaroni picture and asking his mom if she liked it. Kurt melted just a little.

He put his hand on top of Blaine's holding the bottle and brought it closer to his nose for a sniff. He closed his eyes and breathed in; it smelled of vanilla and sandalwood and cleanliness. Either a feminine men's shampoo or a masculine women's but whichever it was, it suited Blaine perfectly.

Kurt opened his eyes and looked straight into Blaine's. The boy was blushing slightly but Kurt couldn't figure out why until he felt Blaine's fingers twitch underneath his. Kurt immediately let go of the bottle and blushed in turn.

"It smells nice. Very you."

Blaine flushed a little darker and smiled one of Kurt's favorite smiles, the kind where his mouth was big and open and you could almost see his molars he was smiling so big and his eyes were crinkled little things.

Kurt swore his heart skipped a beat.

"Fantastico!"

Blaine deftly flipped the cap closed and held the bottle close to him as he kept walking down the aisle, smelling no other shampoos.

Kurt shook himself slightly before deciding that he was gonna go with the bottle in his hand. The brand was the same as his back home, and the packaging looked the same. He'd just have to trust his gut instinct. He grabbed the conditioner that went with it and walked down to where Blaine was standing, looking at hair gel. Kurt was looking through the hairspray until he realized what Blaine looking at hair gel meant.

"You wear gel?", Kurt asked, brow furrowed.

"Yes. My hair, uh, crazy? Looks bad no gel."

Blaine was patting down his curls as he spoke as though he was embarrassed by them. Kurt decided that would not do. He leaned over and grabbed the giant gel bottle (_really?__ The __extra __large__ bottle?__ This __guy __is __insane.) _out of Blaine's hands and put it back on the shelf with a decisive nod of his head.

"You do not need it. Your hair are nice with none."

Blaine shot him a look that clearly spoke of surprise and disbelief and Kurt wondered for a moment if he had totally just overstepped his boundaries. After all he barely knew the guy and he was taking his right to style his hair as he pleases away from him? He was going to slap him, Kurt was sure of it.

Until the look Blaine had been sporting since yesterday evening melted away and he was left standing in front of Kurt with a look in his eyes that made Kurt want to grab the boy and hold him to him and never let go and run a marathon at the same time. Blaine smiled at Kurt like he was truly touched.

"Grazie, Kurt."

The words were softly spoken but Kurt was convinced that if he had said them any louder they would have barrelled him over and left him on the floor they were so damn earnest.

The rest of the shopping trip was spent with both boys grinning like fools behind their scarves.

* * *

><p><strong>Voilà! Chapter nine! Thanks again to the lovely lovely Paperotta who has the patience of a saint when it comes to my terrible Italian and corrects me without making me feel like a complete moron. Also, do we like Brittany? Do we not like Brittany? Like I said, I found her very hard to write so any advice or concrit is totally appreciated!<strong>

**As always, reviews are wonderful to get in my inbox!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: Meine Lieblinge! I have good news and bad news. Good news! Here is an unexpected November chapter! Bad news! This is likely to be it until December. I know! Bad Author! But the thing is I am doing NaNoWriMo this year and I really want to devote myself to that. 50 000 words in a month ain't easy friends, and my personal goal is actually 76k so, you know, kill me now. But as I have said before, there is always the very strong possibility that I will run from my novel by writing this so don't lose hope yet! And when December rolls around I will make things extra deliciously fluffy, just so that you don't lynch me! **

**Wish me luck! And most importantly, enjoy the chapter!  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Kurt was sitting in the living room working on his scarf as he watched the boys playing video games in an attempt to not fall asleep at six o'clock. Fact of the matter was that Kurt was fighting off the urge to simply curl up and sleep just as badly as the rest of them (he had woken up shortly before 4 that morning, his body telling him it was almost ten, <em>what <em>_was __he __doing__ still __asleep?),_the first to rise but not by much because by 5:30, Finn and Sam had already settled themselves in front of the giant television and had set up the game console Finn had absolutely _had__ to_ bring to America, after much difficulty with adapters and power cords.

The girls had joined them for a short while before deciding that watching the two boys destroy each other's characters wasn't really all that interesting and Kurt had joined them in Rachel and Santana's room for facials and manicures with which to start their trip off right.

It was only after Kurt was washed off his first exfoliating mask that he realized that he hadn't seen any of the Dalton boys since he left Blaine (who slept beautifully, Kurt noticed in the few seconds he allowed himself to stare before he felt like creepy vampire stalker Edward Cullen) and Thad sleeping in their room. It was seven before he heard the commotion overhead and figured the boys must be amusing themselves in their rooms, and he stopped worrying about it. It was a little sad to find that there wasn't much mingling going on with the two groups (not because he wanted to be around _Blaine _of course, simply in an academic exchange point of view) but then again, thought Kurt as he applied a thin layer of clay and avocado mask onto his face, what was he gonna do, invite them over for a little spa morning?

Kurt felt better about this after their day out in the school, and of course after lunch and the little shopping trip with Wes, Blaine and Santana, although he would never admit to the Latina exactly how _much _he had enjoyed himself. Especially not since she decided that he and Blaine must have gotten up to something involving buying lube and condoms in the pharmacy and sneaking off to the bathroom. But he still worried when he thought back to the quiet breakfast they had shared that morning, and the way the only reason Santana and he had been place with the Italians at all was because their friends were too self-centered to realize they had left the two of them behind. He didn't want the only reason for him to be around the Dalton boys (not boy, _boys_ he told himself stubbornly) to be his friends ditching him.

His worries melted away a little when the group gathered for supper at five (for which Kurt and his group had nearly been late thanks to their combined lack of a sense of orientation) and they entered the dining room to find Jeff and Nick pestering Finn again (who seemed to be enjoying it more than he ought to if he understood what was going on, thought Kurt) and Sam translating a fascinating conversation about classic Broadway numbers versus Top 40 numbers going on between David, Thad, and Rachel. Quinn and Mercedes were listening in on the conversation and were occasionally interjecting with their own opinions but seemed content to watch the debate unfold on the side-lines. Mr. Schuester sat at the head of the table looking incredibly pleased with the recent development.

Dinner had been a lovely and lively affair with many languages overlapping and shouting out things so fast Mr. Schue and Sam had trouble keeping up with the translating. The English only rule had been abandoned pretty quickly although there were still some half-hearted attempts being made if only to placate Mr. Schue. They finished eating their pizzas soon enough (Mr. Schuester also explained to them that kitchen and cooking duties would be divided amongst them along with other chores such as cleaning the house and shoveling snow at breakfast the next morning), and the group had moved to the living room after one of the Italian boys mentioned that he brought over some games for Finn's console. And so it was that the bloody first-person shooter marathon came about.

At least Kurt _thought _it was a First-Person Shooter. To be honest he only knew the name of like, two other types of video games, so he tended to go with that and just nod along whenever Finn prattled on to him about his beloved video games.

Which brought him back to the moment, him sitting on the window seat of the main floor, wrapped in blankets, crocheting his scarf while on the couch were Quinn, Rachel and Mercedes, who were all supporting the boys playing video games on the floor, much too close to the television in Kurt's opinion. Quinn and Rachel were cheering for Finn who was in a team with Jeff while Mercedes cheered for Sam who was playing with Nick. The room was loud with cheers and jeers both in Italian and French being shouted over the other, but Kurt reveled in the loudness for once; it felt like home, like he was right back in France in his living room where Finn would have a video game marathon with all his buddies while Kurt blasted Barbra Streisand and Patti LuPone in an effort to drown them out.

On one of the two love seats in the room was Thad, reading a book and exchanging commentary with David who sat on the floor leaning against the side of his chair and on the other one sat Wes who seemed to have been reading as well at some point but was now very much distracted by the lap-full of Santana he suddenly seemed to have attached to his face.

Apparently Santana was repaying him for all that MAC make-up he'd bought her.

Kurt was about to wonder where Blaine had gone (he had seen him on the floor watching the game earlier, not that he had been staring at the back of his head or anything) when he heard the unmistakable sound of a throat clearing right beside him.

Standing there in his dark jeans and thick sweater was none other than the Italian in question. But what really stopped him in his tracks was what he was holding.

"Tu- Tu joues la guitarre?" _You-__you __play __the __guitar?,_asked Kurt, licking his suddenly very dry lips.

"Mm? Ah! Si, si,suono la chitarra... Posso sedermi qui? Non ci sono altri posti..." _Huh? __Oh! __Yeah, __yes, __I__ play __the __guitar...__May__ I__ sit __here? __There __aren't __any __other__ seats..._said Blaine, lifting his guitar a little in his hand as he replied. His voice was soft and hopeful as he pointed to the open spot across from Kurt on the little window seat with a nod of his head.

Kurt's heart was suddenly pounding ferociously in his heart. The window seat was rather small and while neither he nor Blaine were particularly big guys, they would have to press together, legs tangling with one another's to fit comfortably on it. Not that Kurt minded of course, something he quickly indicated to Blaine with a sharp shake of his head and offering the spot to him with an extended hand, but he couldn't help but flush at the idea that a guy _wanted _to sit that close to him

That _Blaine _wanted to sit that close to him.

He snapped out of his thoughts just in time to catch the tail end of Blaine's giga-watt smile and see him climb onto the seat with a lot more agility Kurt would have given a guy holding a guitar credit for. He could feel Blaine's feet and calves pressing against his own beyond his raised and folded knees, as Blaine sat himself cross legged across from him, guitar held carefully in his lap.

"Accogliente, no?" _Cozy, __right?__a_sked Blaine with what Kurt deemed to be a criminally gorgeous smile.

Although he didn't understand what Blaine had said in the least he found himself nodding and smiling back to the curly-haired boy before ripping his gaze away from his face and returning to his crocheting, smile still in place. He told himself he would finish the damn scarf and not just ogle at the boy in front of him but that resolve lasted all of two minutes which is what it took Blaine to stop tuning his guitar to his liking and start strumming along to a beautiful little tune he was humming under his breath.

_Well __that's __just __not __fair, _thought Kurt, completely entranced by the little show Blaine was putting on for him, even though he was unaware of this, as his eyes had closed in concentration, brow furrowed, lips mouthing along to the words in his head, completely lost to the music he was creating.

It was all Kurt could do to stop himself from pouncing on the boy.

After another verse of this pseudo humming, Blaine seemed to sense that something was off and he opened his eyes to find Kurt staring at him, lips parted in what Blaine thought to be astonishment and maybe a little admiration.

He wasn't so conceited as to readily accept that there was attraction in that gaze, although a little voice in the back of his mind seemed more than ready to believe it.

Blaine's fingers stumbled over themselves and he strummed a dissonant chord, flinching and blushing as it rang out.

"T'es incroyable! Serieux, tu joues _super_ bien! Et tu chantes en plus?" _You´re__ incredible!__ Seriously,__ you __play _really_ well!__ And __you __sing __too?_

It was like Kurt's brain to mouth filter had been completely shot and his inner thirteen year-old fan girl had taken the reins. He had the decency to at least stop himself before he started drooling and begging him to sing him something, a small mercy on the part of his body for which Kurt was immensely thankful, but he was still left blushing madly and hoping Blaine didn't understand enough of what he was saying to take note of the overexcited way Kurt reacted to his playing.

"Suono la chitarra solo da qualche anno... è piú facile che portarmi dietro un piano elettrico ed è meglio che suonare il violino o il violoncello... in ogni caso ai miei amici non piace granchè ascoltarmi suonare quegli strumenti... Non so perché parlo a vanvera, probabilmente non capisci una parola di quello che sto dicendo. Um... chitarra, um, ti disturba? Disturba? Mi capisci? Oh Dio..." _I've__ been __playing __the __guitar __only__ for __a __few __years__... __it's __easier __to __carry __with __me __than __a __keyboard, __and __it's __better __than__ playing __the __violin __or __the __cello__... __anyway __my __friends__ didn't __really __like __to__ hear __me__ play __those __instruments__... __I __don't __know__ why __I'm __rambling, __you __probably __don't __understand __a__ word __I'm__ saying. __Um__...__ guitar, __um, __does__ it __bother __you?__ Bother __you? __Do __you __understand __me?__ Oh__ God..._

Kurt could see Blaine floundering, and he figured he must have been saying something about the guitar-playing because he kept saying _chitarra_ which Kurt decided had to mean guitar. He also heard something about a piano or a violin and a cello but he couldn't be too sure. Regardless, Kurt figured Blaine must be an incredible musician if he was talking about all those other instruments. By the end of his little speech though he was gesticulating towards his guitar and miming some sort of frowning disapproving face, almost as though he was asking Kurt if it bothered him...

"OH! Non, non, je t'en prie, continue! Um, is nice. Guitarre sounds good."

Frantic Frenglish to be sure, but it seemed Blaine was appeased.

"Um, qu'est-ce que tu chantais tantôt?" _What were you singing earlier?_

Blaine stared at him a little blankly, brow furrowed as though he were apologizing for not understanding.

"Merde, um..."

Kurt started humming a bit of the melody Blaine had been strumming and murmuring earlier before pointing to Blaine's parted lips, eyes asking him silently what it was.

"Vuoi sentirmi cantare?" _You want to hear me sing?_

Blaine was struck dumb over the entire situation. It was like his brain wouldn't compute the fact that A) Kurt seemed to like his playing B) Kurt wanted to hear him sing and most importantly, C) Kurt's soft short humming was the loveliest singing he'd ever heard. He was nothing short of overwhelmed at this point although he was trying desperately not to show it.

"Ok..."

Blaine took up his strumming again, playing the soft introduction with trilling and quavering notes before he took a small breath and started singing along in a low sweet voice, the Italian lyrics pouring from his lips like honey. The song was beautiful, rich and melancholy and Blaine's voice was nothing short of heartbreaking.

Kurt couldn't understand a word of what Blaine was singing but he felt his heart tugging in his chest, and he found himself longing for _something,_a longing born simply from the way Blaine seemed to be imploring through song.

In the back of Kurt's brain he realized that he had heard another version of this song before, a flash of his mom's old vinyl collection coming to the forefront of his mind, the rich sound of an opera singer echoing in his thoughts, but no matter the talent Kurt had grown up hearing coming from his mom's old vinyls it didn't seem to hold a candle to Blaine's slowed down, smooth acoustic version. Kurt was honestly trying to fight the tears pooling in his eyes, trying not to show so outwardly how intensely moving he found Blaine's song.

It seemed like only too few moments later Blaine was strumming the closing chord, the last pure note hanging in the tense air between them.

Blaine, who had closed his eyes once more as he played, fluttered his eyelids open and his gaze caught Kurt's. The air around them was humming, the world was quiet, everything had shrunken down to just the two of them, sitting closely together on the too-small window seat, the cold window pane fogging up from their body heat. Kurt's heart was pounding furiously in his chest, faster than he thought healthy or even possible. The moment stretched between them and then Blaine was oh so slowly lowering his guitar and Kurt was convinced he was leaning towards him when Kurt's most hated sound in the universe rang out.

"Blaine Anderson! You sing! Sam, traduis pour moi! Moi, Rachel Berry, étoile de McKinley-"

Reality came rushing back and with it the crushing realization that whatever that moment could have been was now decidedly not. Blaine was blushing dark red and though he couldn't look Kurt in the eyes he kept sending him quick somewhat apologetic looks, although Kurt couldn't figure out for the life of him why Blaine found it necessary to apologize for _Rachel__ Berry _off all people. Rachel Berry deserved a slow painful death. Preceded by a long torture session.

_It's__ decided,_ thought Kurt venomously as he returned to his crocheting which rather more force than he had to, _tonight__ I __am__ sneaking__ into __her__ room __and__ burning __her __disgusting __cat__ backpack._

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><p>Blaine had sat through three or so minutes of Rachel's impassioned speech (through Sam) about the importance of a good duet partner and her own stellar musical skill before he managed to extricate himself and flee to take a shower.<p>

He felt his face might stay red forever if he didn't leave Kurt's side that very minute. He unfurled his legs, grabbed his guitar and practically ran out of the room, trying to at least make it to the hall before letting himself stumble and pause due to his very much asleep legs.

_What __had __just__ happened__ simply __could__ not __just __have__ happened,_ thought Blaine to himself as he quickly climbed the stairs on still wobbly legs. _There __is __just__ no __way __that __I__ am_ that _stupid._

Up the four flights he went, berating himself with every step he climbed, until Blaine reached the top and finally addressed the very reason he was beating himself up for.

He had been about to kiss Kurt.

The blood drained from his face as he realized the implications of his almost actions. Blaine _liked_ Kurt. _Seriously_ liked Kurt. Want-to-kiss-him-when-look-into-his-beautiful-eyes liked Kurt.

Blaine was in deep with French Kurt, met-him-yesterday Kurt.

That cold realization was what propelled Blaine to go into his room, put his guitar away, grab his pajamas and toiletries and hop into the shower for a quick wash before he finally hit the hay.

Yes he might have a bit of a crush on Kurt, but he hardly knew him!

_This can't possibly end as bad as it did last time. I just met him yesterday! He isn't anywhere near as deep under your skin as he got, and you don't have to let him get there, Anderson. _

Blaine scrubbed his skin with the exfoliating bar of soap he brought with him from Italy before reaching over for his new bottle of Kurt-Approved shampoo, smiling slightly at the memory of Kurt's fingers on his as he smelt the shampoo and the smile he sent him after a long sniff.

_You have the power here, he can't hurt you if you don't let him, even if you know by now you can't exactly ignore the way he makes you feel or hide behind Dalton Blaine. You can let him in, but take it slowly, don't let him just barrel into your life like he did and don't fall in love with him._

_Simple__ enough __rules,_ Blaine thought to himself as he closed his eyes and let the warm water wash his hair clean of shampoo, enjoying the pressure from the jet of water on his scalp, the heat of the steam all around him and the rivulets of foamy water running down his body. He ended up staying in the shower for longer than he anticipated.

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><p>When Blaine finally emerged from the bathroom it was to find the room dark and filled with two sleeping bodies on either side of the room. Blaine closed the bathroom door partly, leaving a small crack of light to help him see as he silently put his clothes away in his and Thad's dresser. When he was done he quickly shut off the light in the bathroom, submerging the room in complete darkness barring the soft moonlight coming in from the large window in the corner of the room.<p>

He climbed into his bed as quietly as he could, pulling the covers back and then over his body which was turned towards the sleeping boy to his right. Kurt look absolutely stunning as he slept in the moonlight, and Blaine found himself putting off sleeping even as his eyelids got heavier and heavier, wanting to bask in the sight of the beautiful boy for as long as possible. Eventually though, he fell under, with a smile on his face, knowing that he'd soon be dreaming of Kurt.

And even if he didn't he had another 4 months worth of nights where he could fall asleep to the sight before him, again and again.

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><p><strong>And that's all folks, you know, for now. Big big thanks to Paperotta as per usual, but also for linking me to this: watch?v=3rc6nHIvBp8 which is what _she_ pictured Blaine was singing to Blaine and I thought fit quite nicely, although when I wrote it I was thinking of a friend of mine who turned Torna a Surriento into a lovely lovely slowed down acoustic piece, but whose audio/video I can't include so feel free to have a listen to the other song and imagine our beloved Blaine singing it! If you readers know any Italian songs which might suit the story feel free to send them my way too, I unfortunately don't have many in my iTunes so I can never think of what to have him sing! (If you want to send French ones you can as well but I have my fair share of French music so that won't be a problem.)**

**As always, reviews are _wonderful _to receive so send some my way if you want to encourage me to be naughty and write this instead of my novel! Love you all dearly, see you in December!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Merry Christmas my darlings! I am so sorry for the lack of updates on this story but after NaNoWriMo failed I got bit by the angst/D/s bug and started wirting my other WIP, Control and I couldn't manage to write two so radically different genres at the same time and then real life and the holiday season was running me ragged so this stroy fell by the wayside, but as I have said on Tumblr, I WILL try to be better about that from now on. **

**So without further ado, here is chapter 11, for your fluffy christmasy enjoyment.**

**EDIT: My italian has now been corrected by the always lovely Paperotta! If you speak Italian you may now read it without cringing at my obviously beginner attempts. Just be kind and remember Italian is my FIFTH/SIXTH language and that I try my best. (My best just sucks)  
><strong>

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><p>After their first few days in Washington, a routine began to form.<p>

During their second breakfast the chores had been divided; Finn and Sam were in charge of shoveling the snow on the stairs, entrance and sidewalk as well as salting it, Nick and Jeff had laundry duty for the boys (_'We clean clothings at Dalton for dorm mates! Is no problem!_), Mercedes and Quinn did the laundry for the girls ('_Kurt would kill the person who try to touch his clothes if that person not me and Quinn can do what she is talked'_), and Wes, David, Santana and Rachel had divided the house into four sections which they would clean. Which left Kurt and Blaine in charge of cooking duty.

"_The other um, ragazzi, they no cook. Fire and breaked thingses happen."_

Blaine had looked so bashful, Kurt couldn't help but nod dumbly and accept his help in the kitchen. After all, even _he _couldn't cook for over a dozen people on a regular basis.

"_You cook then?"_

"_Hm? Yes, yes, my um, zio -father brother?- he own café. I do jobs there, cook, sing, bring foods to persons... So, I am not terrible at cooking."_

"_Good. I am happy for your helping."_

And so it was. Mr. Schuester made sure the pantries were always stocked, and that the kids were doing alright, but for the first time in his life Kurt got a taste of what life away from the strict supervision of a parent or even a parental figure, and he had to say he was pretty glad for it.

Another thing he was glad for of course was preparing two meals a day with the ever-dreamy Blaine Anderson.

He'd quickly learned that while Blaine didn't know many of the recipes Kurt did, he was eager and a fast-learner. Kurt tried desperately not to imagine if that attitude translated to things other than cooking, often failing and letting things almost burn as he was lost in his shamefully lascivious reveries. Only the embarrassment of having Blaine himself interrupt his fantasizing kept Kurt from completely ruining the friendship they were slowly building, and although Kurt still felt suffocated by the sexual frustration at times, after two weeks of living together, cooking together, and studying together, Kurt had managed to lose some of his nervousness around Blaine and the pair had actually fallen into a comfortable friendship.

One that was rife with sexual tension, according to most of his friends, but a friendship nonetheless.

The problem was that while Kurt could admit to feeling sexually charged moments between him and Blaine, Kurt couldn't be sure that Blaine felt the same way. Two weeks of getting to know each other, and making small talk and practicing their English together and the subject of Blaine's sexual orientation hadn't come up _once_, which had Kurt wondering if Blaine was being quiet about it on purpose.

_Is it that he thinks it's obvious that he's straight and doesn't think it worthy to confirm? Or is it that he's gay but he doesn't want to say because he's just not into me? God, I just wish 'I like dick' or 'I like pussy' was just tattooed on his forehead or something. _

In any case, Kurt decided to follow Blaine's intentional or unintentional lead and they steered clear of the subject of potential homosexuality.

Although they _did _talk a lot about Vogue, which Santana said was pretty much the same thing.

That morning Kurt was fully prepared to continue last night's hot debate over Gaga's prediction that mint would be very big next season, finally managing to remember what designer had also said as much, and finally proving Blaine wrong (_'Mint, Kurt? Is a _horrible _colour on any peoples that is not Gaga')_ but when he got down to the kitchen, Blaine was nowhere to be found.

Blaine always showered at night so by the time Kurt exited the bathroom (showered, clothed and groomed to perfection) every morning and made his way to the kitchen, Blaine could always be trusted to be waiting on one of the stools at the island, coffee in hand for him and for Kurt.

Kurt's heart still fluttered at the memory of Blaine asking him how he took his coffee on their first day of kitchen duty and dutifully preparing it for him every day since. It never failed to put a blush and a stupid grin on his face, which Kurt felt was less and less stupid whenever Blaine smiled back at him just as big.

Just when Kurt was about to turn around and go up the stairs to look for him he heard the tell-tale sound of footsteps pounding down the stairs at break-neck speed.

_Must have slept in late without me noticing it._

"Buon giorno, buon giorno! I'm here, sorry! La mia sveglia non ha funzionato. My alarm, not work!"

"_Didn't_ work, right?"

"Si, si, _didn't _work," Blaine said with a crooked smile that _did_ things to Kurt. As usual.

"Do you want some coffee, Blaine?" Kurt asked, slowly and carefully forming the sentence.

"Yes, thank you, Kurt. I would like some coffee."

"Très bien," Kurt answered, already preparing the coffee machine for their usual drip for Blaine and a café au lait for him as a stand in for his beloved non-fat mochas.

"Thank you! I knew it was good idea to practice until the late night."

Kurt shot Blaine back a smile as he puttered around, making their coffees and preparing what would be their breakfast. It was Monday, so oatmeal it was.

"Alors, um, _so-"_

"Giusto."

"- you are prepared for the quiz today?"

"It is on conversational phrases only, yes?"

"Yes, I think so."

"It is not on the travel yet?"

"No, we are learning that this week yet."

"Is _yet _or _still?"_

"Hmm...aucune idée."

"Hmm."

Kurt and Blaine stared at each other for a moment longer, Blaine's brow still slightly furrowed in thought and Kurt's shoulders still lightly raised from his shrug, but both with soft smiles on their faces. Kurt's stomach couldn't help but swoop as Blaine's eyes did that-that _smoulder_ thing that Kurt didn't think Blaine was aware he did but never failed to set Kurt's heart racing.

"I really like practicing with you, Kurt."

Blaine just kept smiling at Kurt, chin resting on his palm as he sat at the island facing Kurt, who was trying to remain standing as his legs turned to jelly. After a beat he managed to stammer out a response.

"I-I like practicing with you too, Blaine."

Kurt couldn't help but imagine the conversation being slightly different, like Blaine telling him that he liked _him _and not just _practicing_ with him. Or like Blaine confessing his love for him. Or Blaine asking Kurt to marry him.

Kurt sighed longingly.

Another beat of Blaine's smiling face messing with Kurt's heart rate passed before he was brought back to reality as the coffee machine beeped that it was startled out of his Blaine-trance and turned quickly to the coffee in a sorry attempt to hide the blush rising on his cheeks. He took the two mugs that had been designated as Blaine's and his (they were some cheap white dollar store ones that Schuester had gotten for every one and that Kurt had written everybody's name on with ceramic marker), and started pouring. He filled his only about two thirds of the way and filled the rest with milk, then filled Blaine's to the top, adding a heaping spoonful of sugar and a pinch of cinnamon to it. He turned back and set Blaine's cup in front of him before grabbing his own and settling down across from him, only to find Blaine staring at him with a wide-eyed and awed expression.

"This coffee is what I like it."

"...yes?" Kurt tilted his head to the side, confused as to what Blane was getting at.

"But I never tell you how I like my coffee."

"I see you make yours a few times," Kurt answered, shaking his head slightly and looking down at his notes on the table, thinking he should probably take a page out of Blaine's book and squeeze in some study time before their big quiz that morning, therefore missing the rather obvious smitten look Blaine was sending him. When Kurt looked up again Blaine was holding the mug in both hands to his smiling lips and sipping from it as he stared off dreamily into the distance.

Kurt wondered what put Blaine in such a good mood before simply smiling in turn, happy that Blaine was happy at all.

After all he had caught Blaine a few times glancing at his cell phone when he thought his friends weren't looking, or looking slightly depressed as he played some simple chord progressions on his guitar on what had become _their_ window sill, and there wasn't anything that Kurt despised more than seeing the usually joyous Blaine looking so down in the dumps. Every smile, no matter their reason, was cause for a small celebration deep inside Kurt's heart.

"_So_, would you like to practice more as we cook breakfast? I know the greetings but I forget some of the introductions questions."

Blaine shot him a large smile before launching into their oft repeated, pre-written conversations.

"Hello, I'm Blaine." Blaine stood from his spot and started washing his empty mug at the sink.

"Nice to meet you Blaine, my name is Kurt." Kurt watched Blaine, finishing his own coffee.

"Pleasure to meet you, Kurt. This is my mother, Maria. This is my father, Antonio. And this is my friend, Thad." Blaine rinsed the cup before grabbing the sponge by the faucet.

"Nice to meet you all. This is my father, Burt, my step-mother Carole and my step-brother, Finn." Kurt swirled the final swallow of coffee, trying to dilute the remaining sugar at the bottom of the glass.

"It is good to meet you all. Where are you from, Kurt?" Blaine rinsed out the soap bubbles.

"I am French. I come from France." Kurt swallowed the last gulp, wincing a little at the sweetness before making his way to the sink too.

"Really? What city are you from?" Blaine put the now clean mug in the drying rack and grabbed Kurt's right out of his hands, ignoring Kurt's protests.

"I come from Normandy. Where do you come from, Blaine?" Kurt stopped trying to wrestle his mug from Blaine for fear of breaking it and decided to let Blaine wash the damn thing if he wanted to so badly.

"I am Italian, I come from Italy." Blaine smiled triumphantly at Kurt as he gently washed Kurt's coffee mug.

"What part of Italy do you come from, Blaine?" Kurt rolled his eyes at Blaine and waited for Blaine to say his reply, although he already knew it from the past week and a half of studying with the boy.

"I come from Milan." Blaine finished washing the mug and put it in the drying rack alongside his own.

"What brings you to Washington, Blaine?" Kurt handed Blaine a hand towel for him to dry his hands with, knowing that otherwise he would simply dry his hands on his shirt.

"I am studying abroad. Why are you at Washington?" Blaine dried his hands and shot Kurt a grateful smile.

"_In _Washington, Blaine." Kurt corrected, turning on the stove for the oatmeal.

"Merda! Sempre lo stesso errore. Why are you _in_ Washington, Kurt?" Blaine took out the large pot and filled it with water.

"I am also studying abroad." Kurt added the salt to the water and then turned to Blaine as they waited for the water to boil.

"Fortunato me." Blaine smiled at Kurt, who didn't understand what Blaine had just said but smiled back benignly anyway.

One of their typical comfortable-although-rather-tense-too moments passed between them before Kurt pushed himself off of the counter he was leaning against and went to grab the bag of oats in the pantry.

"Well, Blaine, I think you are pass the quiz," Kurt said with a tug of the lips.

"Thank you, I think the same is for you."

The rest of breakfast was cooked in companionable silence.

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><p>"Oh dio, sono stato bocciato all'esame, di sicuro!" <em>Oh my God, I failed that test for sure!<em>

"Avresti dovuto studiato, David." _You should have studied, David._

"Si, beh, non tutti possiamo avere un compagno di studio del quale siamo completamente innamorati, eh?" _Yeah, well, we can't all have study buddies we're completely in love with, can we?_

"Non mi degno di risponderti." _I'm not even dignifying that with a response._

"Blaine!"

Kurt's voice rang out in the hallway as we half-ran towards Blaine, who of course stopped and turned towards the French boy with a giant grin on his face.

"Kurt! You did good on the test?"

"Yes! All the practicing was good. You?"

"Mmhm, me too."

"That is good then."

"Yes, very good."

David looked on as the two stared into each other's eyes and forgot the world around them.

"Oh Dio, ragazzi mi fate vomitare! deciditi a dirgli che vuoi fare tanti bambini con lui e metti fine alle nostre sofferenze." _Oh God, you guys make me wanna puke. Tell him you wanna have his babies and put us all out of our misery already._

"Vaffanculo, David." _Fuck off, David, _Blaine replied, not taking his eyes off of Kurt or stopping his smile still.

"Vabbé." _Whatever._

David walked on to lunch, jogging to catch up to Nick and Jeff to probably complain some more about him and Kurt, but Blaine couldn't care less.

"So, we did not talk much during breakfast and cooking. How are you Kurt?"

Blaine and Kurt walked alongside one another on their way to lunch as they usually did. They always ate with the rest of the group however, so Blaine wasn't convinced that their time together at lunch meant as much to Kurt as it did to him.

"I am good. Well, also a little sad I suppose. It is almost Christmas, is my first without my father."

Blaine's heart almost broke at the downcast expression on Kurt's face. Although he couldn't say he lamented being away from his father for the holidays like Kurt obviously did, he understood the sentiment anyway.

"I am sorry Kurt. Must be hard, know you are close to the your father."

Blaine shot him his most earnest look, knowing he had probably botched that sentence beyond all recognition but wanting to get the message across anyway he could. He was rewarded when Kurt short him a small smile and a beautifully bashful look from beneath his lashes.

"It's okay. At least I have you."

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><p>Christmas Eve came with incredible speed, and although Blaine and his friends had all done wonders in keeping Kurt's mood up, he couldn't stop the sudden melancholy that came over him after they had Christmas supper, which Mercedes, Rachel and Quinn helped Kurt and Blaine cook. Although the preparations and the dinner itself had been a lively and multilingual affair, the aftermath was a quiet friendly lounging in the living room as some people did their holiday reading, some played video games and some sang Christmas songs, in French, Italian and English. Kurt chose to sit on his and Blaine's preferred window seat, English book in hand, although he hadn't turned the page in about half an hour, gazing instead towards the large Christmas tree they had all decorated the week before. Suddenly, a familiar figure stepped into view and Kurt lifted his gaze to Blaine's concerned looking face. Kurt offered him a small smile that was meant to reassure him, although his attempts at joviality must have been something dreadful because Blaine looked even more concerned than before.<p>

"You are still feeling a little sad, Kurt?"

Kurt wore a genuine smile at the kicked puppy look Blaine had on his face at the thought of Kurt being sad. If nothing else, Blaine was a wonderfully empathic friend.

"Just a little blue. I'm sorry, I don't want to ruin your spirit."

Blaine smiled a little back.

"You could never. Ah! I know what make you feel better! Wait here!"

Blaine stuck his hands out miming Kurt staying put (_as though I'd move_) before running towards the tree and rifling through the presents underneath it, grabbing a medium sized flat-ish package wrapped in a rather alarming shade of hot pink, then making his way back to Kurt.

"Christmas paper is too...cliché? Thought this is funner! Open it!"

Kurt reached out and grabbed the gift from Blaine with trembling hands. He couldn't quite believe that Blaine had gotten him a Christmas present.

Blaine looked on at him with all the excitement of a five year old at Christmas, eyes wide and bright as Kurt carefully unwrapped his present.

Once the wrapper came free from the tape Kurt lifted the lid of the box underneath it to find a selection of music books staring back at him.

"It's sheet music!" said Blaine redundantly. "Rachel told me you sing and play the piano and I thought it would be nice to hear you and to sing with you too. The first book is Christmas songs the second is Broadway songs, the third is duet songs and the last is pop songs. Is it ok?"

Blaine sounded slightly worried and Kurt was sure he'd have his adorable puppy dog look on his face if he lifted his gaze towards him, but at the moment Kurt was focusing all of his energy into not crying.

"Kurt? Is it okay? I'm sorry, I didn't mea-"

Blaine was cut off by Kurt's arms being thrown around his neck and grabbing on tightly. Blaine automatically wrapped his arms around Kurt's waist and back, holding the boy who was kneeling on the window seat and holding Blaine together as he was ready to explode from the happiness of the moment. After a few seconds, Kurt pulled back and looked Blaine in the eyes, and Blaine could finally see the shining eyes, the radiant smile and the happiness pouring out from Kurt.

"Thank you Blaine. It is the best Christmas present ever. I would love nothing better than to sing with you".

Blaine could do nothing but smile back and try to breathe.

"Now you wait here, I will get your gift."

Kurt rose gracefully from the seat and made sure the books were carefully sitting atop his spot before fetching his gift to Blaine from under to tree and swiftly returning to him.

"Here." Kurt handed Blaine the large-ish box and began rambling as Blaine furiously undid the complicated bow that held it shut. "It is probably not as good as your gift, but I think since you are always cold, you maybe like it-"

"Kurt."

The awed tone with which Blaine spoke his name shut Kurt up, and he was left silently watching as Blaine pulled out a pair of fur-trimmed leather gloves just like Kurt's and the long burgundy scarf Kurt had been crocheting since the plane ride over to America.

"Like I say, I know your hands are always cold and I chrocheted the scarf for me at first but then I thought it would look a lot, much better on you and so-"

And then Kurt was cut off by Blaine's lips on his.

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><p><strong>Please don't kill me. Review instead. LOVE YOU ALL.<strong>


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note: My dears! Your response to last chapter was awe-inspiring! I immediately started writing this after seeing all of your encouraging and touching reviews and the only reason it took so long was because: a) this chapter is rather longer than the last and b) I had a _hard time_ writing it! I wasn't very happy with it at first but after re-writing some things here and there I deemed it worthy of publishing. There are some translation/language notes in the end notes, and I have to warm you here that from now on there will be more English interactions but they will be in pretty mangled English. Remember, they are really only _just_**** learning the language so mistakes are to be expected! As for me I'll try to subtly improve it as the story progresses and their English gets better.  
><strong>

**So that'll be fun. :|**

**Big big thanks as per usual to Paperotta who corrected my Italian (one sentence and I fucked it up! I asked people too!), this story would be a lot shittier without her making the Italian seem legit.**

**Enjoy the chapter!  
><strong>

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><p>After a small moment of disbelief and shock, Kurt's eyes fluttered shut, and as the visual distractions faded away to darkness, his sensory awareness seemed to exponentially multiply, making Kurt's world revolve around nothing more than the smell of Blaine, the feel of his lightly stubbly cheeks under his hand and most importantly, the taste of Blaine on his lips.<p>

Kurt couldn't say exactly when his hands had shot up to frame the shorter boy's face but as it kept Blaine from darting back in panic (as he had tried to do when he realized what he had done) and stop kissing him, Kurt thought it was one of his better ideas, ever. If Blaine wanted to pull back, and this was the first and only kiss he'd share with Blaine, he'd make it last, propriety and future mortification be damned.

Because at this very moment, Blaine was softly pressing his lips against his, a tender counterpoint to the fast, desperate and impulsive kiss that had spurred this one, and Kurt never wanted it to end. Then Blaine's hand shot up and twined into Kurt's hair and Kurt couldn't bring himself to care about his hairdo being ruined because that meant that a piece of Blaine, no matter how small, wanted this to continue for a little longer as well. Soon enough though, tragically, Blaine broke the kiss and lightly pecked him a few times before pulling back.

"Non mi dispiace affatto baciarti, quello che mi dispiace è baciarti prima di averti detto che sono pazzo di te. Mi piaci davvero tanto, Kurt."_ I'm__ not __sorry __for __kissing__ you __but __I__ am __sorry __for __doing __so __before __telling __you __that __I __am __crazy __about __you. __I__ really__ like __you, __Kurt._

"Je ne parle pas soudainement l'italien, Blaine. Tes lèvres son magiques mais elles n'enseignent pas des langues après un seul baiser. Tiens embrasse-moi encore et on verra si ça juste prends deux fois..." _I__ don't __suddenly __speak __Italian, __Blaine.__ Your __lips __are __magical __but __they __don't __teach __languages __after __a__ single __kiss. __Here, __kiss __me __again, __we'll __see __if __it__ takes __two __times __to __work..._

Then Kurt pulled Blaine's face back towards his and he put his lips to the boy's as though they were meant to do nothing but kiss Blaine. Thankfully for Kurt, whose sudden onset of flirtatious confidence and nerve seemed to be going as quickly as it came, Blaine didn't hesitate to return the soft pressure, with a happy hum ringing out from behind slightly smiling and very busy lips. Kurt would have been to remain perfectly content in that moment, were it not for the sudden piercing shriek that broke through the pleasurable haze Kurt had lost himself in with Blaine.

"Kurt! Qu'est-ce qui ce passe? Qu'est-ce que tu fais, oh mon Dieu!" _Kurt!__ What's __going __on?__ What __are __you __doing, __oh __my __God!_

Kurt pulled back from Blaine and shot Rachel his deadliest ever bitch glare.

"Avant que tu viennes ruiner un des meilleurs moments de ma vie, j'embrassais Blaine. Qui m'as embrassé en premier il y a trente secondes. Alors est-ce que tu pourrais me faire une grosse faveur et te jeter dans le feu de la chimené? Super, merci." _Before__ you __went __and __ruined __one __of __the __best __moments__ of __my __life, __I __was __kissing __Blaine. __Who __kissed __me __first __not __thirty __seconds __ago. __So __could __you __do__ me __a __big __favour __and __throw__ yourself__ in __the __fire __in __the __chimney?__ Great, __thanks._

Kurt didn't bother waiting for Rachel's reply before turning back to Blaine, who was blushing beautifully but trying to hide it behind a hand to the face. Through spread out fingers, Kurt could see pieces of a nervous smile that had Blaine looking more gorgeous than ever. Blaine lowered his hand and gaze before locking eyes with Kurt.

"I... I like your presents a much. I like you even morer."

Kurt could do nothing but smile and blush and murmur the same broken sentiment in return.

* * *

><p>Christmas day was a fun one in the Washington household, with the Dalton and McKinley students exchanging gifts and broken English pleasantries and stories after lunch (which was really brunch, because most the kids had gotten up around noon, in the typical teenager-on-vacation fashion), and then simply hanging out together in the comfortable friendship that had been forged amongst the youths.<p>

Amidst boisterous carols and games and gift exchanging however (and the sneezes cutting through the hubbub every once in a while from Thad who had caught a cold), one pair remained mostly on the fringes, and that was Kurt and Blaine, who chose to stay cozied up on their window seat and watch the beautiful chaos from afar.

Now that they were... Kurt didn't really know, together?- Blaine had become even more freewheeling than usual with the touching, and Blaine had never been anything other than a hugely tactile person to begin with.

They had started sitting on opposite ends of the bench as usual, with their feet slightly overlapping, but soon enough Blaine was wrapping his ankles and Kurt's together, and then ankles became legs and eventually, after Blaine shifted out from under their blanket, touched the cold window with some exposed skin and started shivering like the _frileux _that he was (Kurt _still_ couldn't find the English equivalent for that word), Kurt simply opened his arms with a fond eye-roll and wrapped himself entirely around Blaine.

Who looked entirely too happy with the situation if the razzing he got from his friends and the giant smile Kurt could see the edges of was anything to go by.

And so it was that broad back to warm chest, Blaine and Kurt watched their friends interact, with some soft commentary being exchanged between the two.

"Your friend Mercedes, is she with your American friend?"

Kurt looked on at the pair, exchanging mushy looks over Christmas wrapping and shiny baubles. They kept blushing and avoided each other's gazes, and Kurt briefly realized that that's what he and Blaine must have looked like to all their friends.

_No wonder they were all ready to stuff us in a closet._

"No, they are just friends. Like we were just friends though."

Blaine made a happy humming noise and not-so-subtly snuggled farther into Kurt's embrace.

"Then they are not as lucky as I."

Kurt smiled and blushed.

"As us."

Kurt thought this was finally the perfect segue to ask Blaine exactly _what _they were other than ridiculously lucky (at least he was; the fact that Blaine thought so as well was mind-boggling), when his cell phone rang.

"Oui, allô?"

"Kurt! Joyeux Noël mon fils, comment va tout en Amérique? Est-ce que je peux ouvrir ma facture de Visa sans avoir une autre crise cardiaque où devrais-je laisser ça à Carole?" _Kurt! Merry Christmas, son, how is everything going in America? Can I open my Visa bill without having another heart attack or should I leave it to Carole?_

"Papa! Joyeux Noël à toi et à Carole aussi, dis-lui qu'un colis devrait arriver bientôt pour elle de ma part; une ligne de produits cosmétiques rétro années quatre-veignt qui n'est pas complètement hideuse que je sais qu'elle va adorer, mais j'ai aussi inclu des instructions très claires pour comment les porter. Il y a aussi un petit quelque chose pour toi, mais je préfère que tu sois surpris. T'inquiète, j'ai fait mes achats de Noël avec mes propres épargnes alors la carte de crédit reste plus ou moins intacte. Je me suis acheté un manteau et une paire de bottes incroyables avec par contre alors, pas _totalement _intacte mais je promets que les deux étaient en solde et magnifiques." _Dad! Merry Christmas to you and Carole too, tell her she should be getting a package in the mail soon from me; it's a line of retro 80's cosmetics that aren't completely hideous that I know she'll love, but I also included very clear instructions as to how she should wear them. There's also a little something for you but I want it to be a surprise. Don't worry, I did my Christmas shopping with my own savings so the credit card remains more or less intact. I say more or less because I bought myself a jacket and some marvelous boots with it but I promise both items were on sale and absolutely fabulous._

"Bon, je dirais rien quand j'ouvrirai la facture alors. Joyeux Noël. Alors, raconte..." _Alright then, I won't say anything when I get around to opening the bill. Merry Christmas. So, tell me..._

During his phone call Blaine had become rather tense and Kurt had subconsciously begun running his thumb soothingly over the arm he was cradling, an action that Kurt might not have noticed in itself, although he did notice Blaine's shoulders sagging slightly before he was back in the relaxed state he'd been in before Kurt had joyously answered the phone with 'Papa!'.

Kurt stopped thinking about the boy in his arms and zoned back into the conversation with his dad just in time to hear a dreaded question being asked.

"Alors, Kurt, est-ce que t'as quelque chose à me dire en ce qui concerne un garçon? Je sais que je suis loin mais je suis toujours prêt à sortir mon fusil de chasse." _So, Kurt, anything I need to know on the boy front? I know I'm far away, but I'm always ready to take out my shotgun._

Now it was Kurt's turn to turn stiff. His back was ramrod straight as he tried to think of what to tell his dad, but his momentary silence seemed to have said enough.

"...Kurt? Est-ce qu'il y _a_ un garçon?" _Kurt? _Is_ there a boy?_

Kurt shut his eyes tightly as though it would make this any easier.

"...oui? Je ne sais pas ce qu'on _est_ exactement mais c'est comme s'il était sorti d'un conte de fées. Il est très respectueux, t'inquiète, rien ne s'est vraiment encore passé entre nous." _...yes? I don't know what we are really, but it's like he stepped right out of a fairy tale. He's very respectful, don't worry, nothing's even happened yet between us really._

Kurt held his breath as he waited for his dad to say something. Another moment passed.

To say _anything._

"Papa?"

"... Tu l'as rencontré où cet américain?" _Where did you meet this American?_

"Oh, il n'est pas américain, il est italien, c'est un des garçons de l'échange." _Oh, he's not American, he's Italian, he's one of the guys from the exchange._

"Quoi? Tu _vis_ avec?" _What? You are _living_ with him?_

At that precise moment, he knew he had stepped in it. He spent the better part of the next ten minutes trying to talk his dad down from his very angry ledge and had finally succeeded when he passed the phone on to Finn who let it slip that Kurt and Blaine were actually _rooming_ together, which led to another twenty minutes of telling his dad _not _to fly out to Washington to have 'a talk with this hooligan'. During all of this, Blaine lay in Kurt's arms, enraptured in the conversation he couldn't understand but loved listening to, Kurt's rapid-fire French sounding as beautiful as a symphony to his ears. When it eventually came to an end- almost an hour after it had begun, and only because Kurt started yelling at his dad about how expensive the phone bill would be- Kurt slumped forward in their embrace and rested his forehead on Blaine's shoulder.

A shoulder that was lightly shaking with barely-contained laughter.

"There is something funny, Anderson?"

Kurt shot Blaine a mock glare, which didn't do much apparently other than make Blaine _actually_ burst out into giggles.

"You. You are funny and scary when you yell at Finn. And at your father. You are...the word...adorable? Yes, adorable."

Kurt tucked his head back into the crook of Blaine's neck in part to hide his blush and in part to hide the bubbling happiness building up inside of him and causing him to grin like a fool.

"Well, you are mean."

Kurt tightened his arms around Blaine and pressed a feather-light kiss to the juncture of Blaine's neck and shoulder, smiling even wider when he felt Blaine's pulse quicken beneath his lips.

* * *

><p>"Allez les filles! Debout! Il est six heures déjà, les magasins ouvrent leurs portes dans une heure et vous êtes encore au lit? Honte à vous." <em>Come on girls! Up you get! It's six am already, stores open in an hour and you're still in bed? For shame. <em>

Rachel moaned under her covers and tugged a pillow over her head.

"Kurt, normalement je serais ravie de magasiner avec toi, mais je sais comment tu est avec les soldes après Noël et franchement je n'ai aucunement envie de faire face à ça à six heures du matin. Prends Santana avec toi." _Kurt, normally I would be thrilled to go shopping with you, but I know how you get with post-Christmas sales and honestly I have no desire to deal with that at six o'clock in the morning. Take Santana with you._

Kurt huffed in exasperation but let Rachel keep on sleeping. He didn't want to spend 4 hours in Claire's again anyway.

"Bon, ben, Satan, debout. T'as aucune excuse, tu m'as dis toi-même que tu voulais mon aide aujourd'hui. T'as de l'argent à brûler grâce à la générosité des pauvres déprivés d'école privée alors bouge toi, les soldes n'attendent pour personne!" _Alright, then, Satan, get up. You have no excuse, you told me yourself that you wanted my help today. You've got money to burn thanks to those poor deprived private schooler's generosity, so get a move on, sales wait for no man!_

"Va te faire foutre Kurt, ton enthousiasme me fais chier. Je serai prête dans 30 minutes, va réveiller Mercedes et Quinn ou quelque chose." _Fuck off, Kurt, your enthusiasm is pissing me off. I'll be ready in 30 minutes, go wake up Quinn and Mercedes or something._

Kurt rolled his eyes but knew better than to argue with Santana or chastise her for her attitude the way he would have done Rachel or Mercedes at any other time. Instead he allowed himself to shut the door as loudly as he could, just to irritate Santana a little more.

_Maybe she'll be irritated enough to get off her ass and get ready quick._

Kurt then crossed the hall and knocked at Quinn and Mercedes' room, expecting to have to wake the girls up only to find Mercedes getting dressed and Quinn reading in bed.

"Bonjour les filles! Vous avez bien dormi?" _Morning, girls! Did you sleep well?_

Quinn smiled softly from the top of her book. She looked incredibly beautiful, even in her pajamas, with no make-up on and her hair mussed from sleep.

"Oui, merci. Malheureusement je ne peux pas me joindre à vous, je me suis réveillé avec le rhume de Thad, mais j'ai donné ma carte de débit à Mercedes, alors si vous voyez de quoi de merveilleux, pensez à moi, oké?" _Yes, thank you. Sadly, I can't join you guys, I woke up with Thad's cold, but I gave Mercedes my debit card, so if you see something fantastic,think of me, okay?_

In that moment, Kurt was truly sad for her; such a gorgeous girl, a woman really, clinging desperately to a boy who was obviously in love with another girl. She truly deserved someone who would appreciate for her for all she had to give, more than her looks or her status, Quinn was a smart, eloquent and loving person, with a lot of love to give, but just didn't know how yet.

Kurt smiled at her and patted her foot through the thick comforter she had cocooned herself in.

"C'est beau, répose toi bien ma chère. Je connais ta taille et ton style, quand j'aurais fini avec toi tu pourras pas retourner en France parce que tu auras été embauchée par Tyra Banks en tant que top modèle." _Thanks okay, get some rest my dear. I know your size and your style, by the time I'm done with you you won't be able to return to France because Tyra Banks will have hired you as a Top Model._

Quinn let out a high laugh that turned into a small coughing fit, but she looked slightly happier as he and Mercedes left the room than she did when he had first come in.

"Allons lui acheter quelque chose de fantastique, oui?" _Let's go buy her something fabulous, yeah?_

* * *

><p>The shopping had progressed well, and by lunch time, Kurt had deemed them fit for a break, if only because Santana had threatened to slice him with the razorblades in her hair if he didn't let them sit down for a while. Kurt had to admit that after 5 straight hours of boxing day shopping, a lunch break sounded pretty good, even to him.<p>

Re-fueling for the rest of the day's shopping.

They settled into one of the six seat tables, their overflowing bags taking up most of the space and took turns to keep an eye on their bags and to make sure nobody took their seats. While Santana went to get a salad and a smoothie, Kurt tried to get Mercedes to break and tell him about whatever it was that was happening between her and Sam, but aside from a tell-tale glint in her eyes and a coy smile on her face, Mercedes divulged nothing. As soon as Santana came back, Mercedes bolted from her seat to get a burger and it became Kurt's turn to ignore Santana's inquisition regarding 'the hobbit's sexual prowess'. Kurt had never been gladder to have his turn to wait in line for food. Once they were all gathered again and their lunch was well underway, they talked about their shopping strategies for the afternoon. They were planning what mall to hit up next when Kurt's phone buzzed from it's place atop the table.

"Oui, allô?"

"Kurt? It's I, Blaine. Are you doing well?"

Kurt's heart was thrumming in his chest and his palms had broken out in a panicked-but-pleased sweat at the sound of Blaine's voice coming through his phone.

"I hope is okay, I asked Rachel for your cell number. I asked because wanting to talk to you but I also asking because Rachel and Quinn wered yelling and I think it is good distraction. Is not a... too much?"

Kurt realized his stunned silence might be making Blaine nervous.

"No! No! It is more than okay. I am happy for your call."

"Good!" Kurt could practically _hear_ Blaine's smile from across the city. "Was wondering if you maybe like more company for the shopping? The other Dalton boys no want to shop with me, they say they know better."

"Um-y-yes! I would like that much! We are finished lunch and we are going to only two more stores before going to other mall. The one closer to home? We have went to the farther one first thinking it would be nice to finish the day and get home faster. Would...you like to meet me at the doors in about one and half hour?"

Even though Blaine was the one asking to join them, Kurt was still fighting down the creeping dread of him turning down his invitation. Irrational, he knew, but as natural a reaction to him as the cool façade he put forth when the invitations he extends are shot down. As they usually were.

"Sounds fantastic! See you then, bello! Ciao!"

The beep of the call disconnecting snapped Kurt out of his momentary Blaine induced stupor and set him into a frenzy of grabbing his bags, grabbing his girls and heading off to the last stops at this mall immediately.

He felt infinitely more energetic, although he didn't think his Greek vegetable platter were what had actually re-fueled his tank.

* * *

><p>An hour later, Kurt, Santana and Mercedes were grabbing a taxi to the mall they were meeting Blaine at. Santana had decided to bow out for the day, having made the poor decision to wear heels for the day and therefore being unable to take another step without limping. She had been talked into dropping Kurt and Mercedes off at the mall and taking their purchases with her, liberating them of trudging through the second mall already bogged down by at least half a dozen large bags each, which had Kurt and Mercedes and high spirits.<p>

Santana was muttering darkly under her breath about being their pack mule, but when Kurt promised to get her the dress that she had seen at Zara's in the right size as soon as he got to the second mall, she stopped her grumbling. Good thing Santana was easily bought or Kurt might not have trusted her to not inflict any damage to his new clothes as retribution.

About twelve minutes later the taxi stopped in front of the glass doors to the mall. Kurt and Mercedes quickly climbed out, not wanting to irritate Santana by raising the fare by dawdling, threw a couple of bills at her for their share of the fee and walked towards the door with the energetic gusto of seasoned shoppers.

Like the first mall they had frequented, the halls and stores were packed with people. Some stores, like the Best Buy, the video game store and Sephora actually had lines to get into them, and Kurt was glad that Santana had gone along home or he doubted he would have been able to get out of waiting in line for the overpriced make-up with her.

Kurt appreciated a good moisturizer, foundation and hair product as much as the next gay man, but that did not mean that he was in any way willing to waste valuable shopping time waiting to get into the veritable lion's den that that store would be.

Kurt shuddered at the thought of the damage Santana would have wreaked upon the poor women flocking the Latisse and the falsies.

They had planned to go straight to the Zara and be back at the doors in 17 minutes (the short amount of time spent in the store only permissible because they had spent nearly an hour at the Zara in the other mall and had purchased all they wanted already), just in time to meet up with Blaine, but their carefully planned dress crusade was rendered useless when upon entering the mall the pair caught sight of one Blaine Anderson, lounging carefully against one of the mall's large potted palms, patiently waiting for them while playing a game on his phone.

Kurt fought the urge to run straight into his arms and instead strode briskly up to him with a huge smile on his face.

"Early, Blaine?"

Blaine's head shot up from his phone, causing his to lose his particularly impressive run of Ninjump, but the smile with which he greeted Kurt told him it didn't really matter.

"I thinked you would like to maybe get more shopping done and would be early too. I was right."

Blaine put his phone in his pocket and grabbed Kurt's hand in his and turned to Mercedes as though it was the easiest thing in the world.

"Where is we go first?"

Kurt opened his mouth and closed it a few times, trying to get his brain to work enough to _answer the damn question, _but obviously took too long for Mercedes' taste who answered for him. And then Blaine was pulling him along and they were walking, hand-in-hand towards Zara as Mercedes described the dress Santana had found in the other mall but in a Large.

"So it is a small, tight-fitting dark red dress with big black zipper on the back. Sleeves to elbow, size Small?"

"That's right. It shouldn't be hard to find it, there were many of them in the other Zara, just not in her size."

"Sounds good. Your English is very good, Mercedes, you almost sound American!"

Mercedes blushed and looked down to her shoes with a big smile on her face.

"My vocabulary is still not so good, but I listen to a lot of American music and Sam has been helping with my pronunciation."

"You are doing very good! My English is still terrible! Not know how Kurt or any persons understands me at sometimes!"

"Nonsense! You are doing very good too! It has only been around three weeks we have been really studying the language outside of basic classes back in Europe, I think we should be proud of us. That is what Sam says anyways."

"Hmm, Sam maybe right. What do you think, Kurt?"

Blaine squeezed his hand lightly and turned to him.

"I-um, I think so too. We are much better than when we first meeted anyways."

Blaine smiled wide at him and simply carried on talking to Mercedes as they neared the store, and Kurt was trying to figure out how on earth he was doing it, if maybe the fact that he was _holding Kurt's hand through a mall in front of hundreds of people_ didn't quite register as being as big a deal to him than it was to Kurt. When they got to the store they agreed to split up and look for the dress separately to increase their chances of finding it before 'some other size Small slag gets to it first again'.

Kurt didn't know _where_ Santana was picking up her English from but it sounded as impressively vulgar as her French at this point. Kurt figured it was from the Cheerios at their school; he had being seeing Santana with Brittany quite a lot recently.

Kurt started scouring the store for the dress on his own, getting into his Shopping Zone, and out of his Blaine-Is-So-Dreamy Zone, because _there was shopping to be done damn it, _he couldn't lose focus every time Blaine touched him or this could get embarrassing. Eventually he heard Mercedes' yell of success and he made his way over to the cash, knowing that Mercedes would go there and hand the dress over for him to pay.

Two people were served before Mercedes reappeared, dress clutched tightly in hand.

"Une madame to comme quarante ans a essayé de prendre la robe d'entre mes mains! T'imagines? Un vieille madame dans une robe Santana!" _Some woman who was like, fourty, tried to snatch the dress right out of my hands! Can you imagine? Some old woman in a Santana dress!_

Kurt brought a hand up to his eyes and shook his head. Some people were hopeless.

"Incroyable. Est-ce que t'as vu Blaine?"

"Ouais, après que j'ai trouvé la robe il est allé vite vite au Brooks Brothers. Il a dit qu'il y avait une veste, ou des vestes je pense." _Yeah, after I found the dress he went over to the Brook Brothers real quick. He said something about a sweater, or sweaters or something._

"Hmm, on dirait bien que c'est son genre." _Hmm, it does seem to be his type._

"Ouais moi aussi je connais quelque chose qui est son genre," _Yeah I know something that seems to be his type too, _Mercedes said with a nudge to the ribs and a wink. Kurt simply rolled his eyes, took the bag from the cashier and made his way over to the store Blaine was currently raiding. Even through the masses of people Kurt could spot Blaine, arms already overflowing with jackets, sweaters, pants and polos. Kurt grinned at the figure before making his way over to him, and grabbed some of the clothes for Blaine (who only momentarily panicked and clutched at his clothes desperately thinking somebody was trying to take them from him).

"I see you finded lots of things?"

Blaine blushed and shrugged a bit.

"I like their clothes, and they never have sales! Help me pick some?"

The three of them spent almost an hour in the store as Blaine tried on sweater after sweater after jacket after polos (which Kurt was particularly fond of as they showed off Blaine's toned arms deliciously).

After Blaine went back into the dressing room one last time to change back into his clothes and grab his final round of selections (Kurt had done very little in the way of helping his narrow down his options), Mercedes turned to him.

"You certainly have one hot boyfriend, mon cher."

Kurt ripped his gaze from the curtained room Blaine's fantastically clothed back had gone into and looked at Mercedes who had already gone off to look at some accessories.

She had called Blaine his boyfriend. Is that what they were? Were they boyfriends?

They hadn't kissed again after Blaine's impromptu kiss on Christmas Eve, and aside from their cuddle session on Christmas day and Blaine holding his hand earlier, nothing had really changed between the two since before The Kiss (as Kurt had taken to call it in the corner of his mind that hadn't stopped replaying the moment since it happened). Kurt had meant to ask Blaine about it but was interrupted by the call from his dad and then by the simple joy of having Blaine in his arms.

Kurt _thought_ they were boyfriends. It certainly didn't _feel_ like he and Blaine were still just friends. But what if Blaine didn't feel the same? Maybe that's why he was so unruffled at holding hands with him in the mall, maybe for Blaine it was just some...some...

Kurt didn't really know _what _ Blaine could think them to be but all he knew was that if he stayed sitting there waiting for Blaine to come out he might have an aneurysm. He called out that he would be browsing the accessories with Mercedes before bolting, not waiting for a reply.

He made his way over to where Mercedes was and joined her in salivating over the absolutely gorgeous but absolutely overpriced hats, scarves, ties and pocket squares laid before them. He reached out to one especially beautiful scarf, made of a stripped navy cashmere. One look at the price tag had him sighing and putting the scarf back down in front of him.

"Tu te rends compte que Blaine a l'intention d'acheter tout ce que t'as dans tes mains en plus du reste des vêtements qu'ill a essayé tantôt, non?" _You do realize that Blaine intends to purchase all the clothes you are currently holding for him on top of al the clothes he tried on earlier, right?_

"Oui? Et?" _Yes? And?_

"Kurt, chaque chandail coûte près de 70$, de même pour les vestes qui en fait coûtent dans les _centaines_ chaques? Sans compter les deux manteaux à 478$ et 349$ respectivement? Ton chum est _riche!_" _Kurt, every shirt costs near to 70$, same goes for the sweaters who actually cost something closer to _hundreds? _Not counting the two coats that are 478$ and 340$ respectively? You boyfriend is _rich!

For some reason- and Kurt couldn't quite figure out _how_- Kurt had failed to notice the bill that Blaine was racking up with his shopping frenzy. His logic was just swept away in the face of Blaine enthusiasm and the joy for shopping that matched his own. A quick tally brought Blaine's purchases well into the thousands and Kurt had to close his eyes for a second, dizzy at the thought of all _he _would buy if for some reason he had the same crazy budget Blaine seemed to.

Before Kurt could come up with something to say to Mercedes however, a sure hand wound itself around his waist.

"Well I am ready to go I think. You two see anything?"

Kurt gave the scarf on the table one last longing stroke before turning to Blaine.

"No, I think Mercedes and I are good. Do you need help taking things to the cashier?"

Blaine just smiled, shook his head and took the clothes from Kurt.

"Is okay, you two can go sit while I pay. Your foots must be tired."

Kurt was about to say that no, they were fine and happy to keep him company when Mercedes cut in and said that yes, her feet _were_ killing her, grabbing Kurt and leading him out the door before Kurt could even realize what had happened. As soon as they reached the mercifully empty bench Mercedes collapsed into it, toed off her sneakers and began rolling her toes in them in an attempt to get some blood flowing. They promised each other foot massages once they made it home as they waited for Blaine to re-emerge. As the line was surprisingly small for the amount of people in the store (Kurt suspected most of them were mostly window shopping and hoping that whatever it was that they were after was on sale) Blaine made it out rather quickly, with no less than seven bags in his arms. He walked over to them and set his bags down, stretching his back after finally being load free. Then he looked at Kurt excitedly.

"I had no reason to buy a scarf or gloves because an adorable boy gived me some for Christmas but then I remember that you said scarf was meaned to be yours so I got you something."

Blaine reached into the bag closest to his foot, and pulled out none other than the cashmere scarf Kurt was looking at. He quickly ripped off the price tag, pulled Kurt's current red scarf from around his neck replaced it with the new navy one.

It felt even softer around his neck than it did in his hands.

"There! Looks beautifully, bello."

"Blaine, I-I can't accept this! Is a very costly scarf, I can not-"

"No! You spend time making mine, I spend a little money on yours. Your scarf means more this just a little thing to try and... match it, I think is word? Make up? In any case, is yours now."

Kurt looked at him with what he knew was probably the most disgustingly smitten look ever worn by anybody.

"Thank you Blaine. It is perfect, you did not have to do this."

"What, I cannot buy my boyfriend a gift?"

* * *

><p><strong>And there you have it! I warned you that their English would be mangled, but I figured it was best to write out their broken dialogues than to spare myself the trouble and turn their interactions into narration on my part. I tried to keep the Frenglish and the... Englalian? as true to form as possible, writing down the more common mistakes Italian speakers have with spoken English (omitting pronouns when preceding a verb, or adding some when it is unnecessary leading to double pronouns) and the same for French (verb tenses which I find funny because French verbs are much more complicated than English ones, and pronouns once again). There are some bits that I didn't add the English translation to because Kurt is just answering his phone or because I liked the effect of leaving in terms of endearment in their original language (mon cher, bello, etc.)<strong>

**The only one I left in french out of necessity was _Frileux_ because there is no English equivalent (so Kurt will have a hard time finding one). It's basically an adjective that defines someone who is sensitive to cold, who gets cold easily. In Spanish there is the equivalent (friolento) but I don't know that there is one in Italian. In any case, it's one of those words I curse the English language for not having; after all I myself am very _frileuse. _**

**Reviews are incredibly inspiring!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note: Should I open with my excuses or with my groveling? Okay, those who follow me on Tumblr know that the reason I haven't updated this story is because real life hit me like a ton of bricks and I have new responsibilities that have taken priority in my life, but at the same time I feel I must apologize because I know I have kept a whole lot of you waiting for a damn long time. I'm sorry. Don't worry, this story is not over yet, I have not abandoned it, and I don't plan on abandoning you. I love you allll, like, bed flailing, keyboard smashing love.**

**The songs in this chapter are Édith Piaf songs, Milord and Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien, two of my personal favourites. I will put links down below for those who have never heard them. I _strongly_ recommend listening to them as their lyrics are relevant to the story and bring depth to it.**

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><p>The next couple of days passed by in a flurry of good food, good times and good company as the McKinley and Dalton kids cemented what was already shaping up to be a solid friendship. Mostly though, Blaine focused on cementing his relationship with Kurt, and transforming it from what could be taken for a few shared kisses and a scarf between slightly-more-than-friends to honest to goodness <em>boyfriends, <em>although that was surprisingly complicated with the language barrier becoming a bigger obstacle than ever.

After Kurt jumped up and kissed him passionately after him (_surprisingly suavely_) calling them boyfriends though, Blaine was feeling pretty good about the entire endeavour. At the moment, they were sitting on their window sill, Blaine comfortably nestled in his spot between Kurt's legs as they sipped from chilled champagne flutes and watched their friends, all waiting for the stroke of midnight.

The group had sat down for a Chinese take-out New Year's Eve dinner earlier, which Rachel insisted was a Jewish American tradition although Kurt was unsure, during which most of them were interrupted by midnight phone calls from family and friends wishing them well six time zones away, the main exceptions being Sam, Blaine and Brittany who was joining them for New Year's Eve and had spent most of the night glued to Santana's side. Blaine kept looking at his phone a little half-heartedly, almost as though he himself didn't know whether or not he wanted it to ring, and Kurt, seeing his boyfriend's consternation, diplomatically avoided broaching the subject and simply reached out to hold his hand under the table. Kurt had finished using his chopsticks anyway, he said.

As had happened on Christmas day, things settled down somewhat after dinner, which had led to turning in for the night and Jeff whipping out the small crate of champagne he had somehow managed to procure for the festivities.

"Me, I still no understand how Americans no drink before they is 21. Sono pazzi! They can go to war, get married, and they cannot have a glass of red with a food? I can't believe it," said Nick as they pair went around filling the flutes Wes and David had quickly passed around. One round of champagne had quickly dissolved into two and then three, and by now most of the kids were pleasantly tipsy. Blaine himself felt flushed in the face and almost boneless, the way only champagne could make him. Stretched out against Kurt's firm front, Blaine felt languorous and almost _seductively_ drunk, which had him stroking the strong, lean, legs encasing him in long movements. Blaine could feel Kurt's body responding to his affection, spine straightening before molding itself ever closer to him, breath hitching before resuming in a slightly deeper manner than before, arms stiffening around him before pulling Blaine against him and returning the sentiment by lightly ghosting over the abdomen and pectorals they encased.

Feeling first-hand the way Blaine affected Kurt was driving him _crazy, _and had his head spinning faster and harder that the champagne had. He could only be glad he was seated in front of Kurt as Blaine felt a part of his own anatomy responding to the feeling.

Blaine was snapped out of his reverie by Kurt's warm breath blowing by his ear.

"See, somebody finally got their act together."

Kurt brought his face closer to Blaine's and pressed his cheek against Blaine's, gently turning his face towards what he was likely referring to. Blaine couldn't be sure as his brain was still stuck somewhere between processing Kurt's lips brushing against his ear and the feel of their cheeks pressed together in such an innocuously intimate manner. As his brain caught up, he finally realized that Kurt had subtly turned them so that he could catch a glimpse of Mercedes and Sam, arms around necks and waists, kissing in front of the fireplace.

"Ah! Good for them. Me, I was hope this happen soon. You're a good friend, not yelling out loud like your friend Rachel did with us."

"Give her time, she maybe do it again."

Blaine giggled softly, the more dapper part of his still-sober brain chalking the sound up to the champagne as the rest of Blaine's more than slightly inebriated consciousness gave a small cheer as he snuggled closer to Kurt who replied with a tender kiss under his jaw.

"You know, I am very happy for you. I have always been- I mean, I have never had a person to do this with before. I always was watching alone. Now I can watch with you in my arms."

Blaine hummed happily as he tried to convey in English how much it warmed him to hear those words being spoken by the person who made him feel much the same way.

"I am so happy for that Kurt. To be for you. And I am happy for you too. Before you I was sad. Now I am not so sad anymore."

He could feel Kurt smiling against the sensitive part of his neck where the nape connected to his shoulder.

"I am not so sad anymore too."

"Heille! Les tourtereaux! Vous pensez vous joindre à nous a un certain moment de la soirée ou pensiez vous rester à câliner comme de chatons sur votre maudite fenêtre? Parce que franchement, avec la quantité de champagne que je pense consommer pour le reste de la soirée, je n'ai aucunement besoin d'une autre source de nausée." _Hey! Lovebirds! Are you planning on joining us anytime during the night or were you thinking of staying and cuddling in that damn window all night like a pair of kittens? Because honestly, with the amounts of champagne I plan on drinking this evening, I don't need a second source of nausea, _said an already intoxicated Santana who seemed to be standing upright only thanks to the arm she had slung around Brittany's shoulders and the strong dancer's arm holding her against the other's side.

"Dégage Satan, t'es pire que Rachel pour l'amour de Dieu." _Go away, Satan, you're worse than Rachel for chrissake. _

Santana merely rolled her eyes and turned to Brittany, who had caught her attention again.

"What is Santana said?_"_

"Is nothing, she just being annyoing and is want us to 'join the party'."

"Mmm, but I am liking this too much to move yet."

Kurt hummed against his skin once more in assent and went back to whispering in his ear, although before he could get anything out Rachel interrupted them with more rapid-fire if slightly slurred French, to which Kurt responded much in the same manner he had to Santana.

"She is told us to join party too?"

"Yes. I told her go away if not I burn her cat bag."

Blaine giggled at that and squeezed the knee under his right hand.

"That is really not a beautiful bag."

"It is a hideous thing that does not even fit for hipster. It is a fashion crime."

Blaine's giggles started up again.

"A fashion manslaughter, Blaine."

Blaine was shaking with the force of his giggles at this point.

"A _murder _of style, Blaine! A fashion _hate crime!"_

Blaine started roaring with laughter that quickly became contagious and soon the two boys were rolling with it; as much as the tiny space they were in allowed anyway. When their laughter died down Blaine found himself on his side, hand tucked by his grinning face, both of which were pressed firmly against Kurt's chest. Blaine smiled wider at the feel of Kurt's heart beating rapidly under his fingers, ribs still trembling sporadically from lingering titters. Blaine turned hid head to the side and propped his chin on the back of his hand to gaze up at his boyfriend who was gazing adoringly back.

"I will for sure hide that bag next time I see it. Part because I am afraid you set fire to it part because I want to protect your eyes from it if it is such a terrible crime against fashion to you."

"Such a good boyfriend I have," Kurt said with a fake swoon. Or maybe a real swoon.

Blaine hoped he made Kurt swoon because Lord knows the opposite could be said for him.

They spent another minute smiling dopily at one another before a loud crash followed by the group laughing brought them back to where they were.

"We should perhaps listen to your friends. We are not being very social."

"Mmm, maybe. You meet me here before midnight though?"

"You say like us standing up means I will leave your side. You are wrong. We still do this, just talking to other people too."

Kurt let out a laugh and put a hand on top of Blaine's ruffled curls.

"Okay, deal."

Blaine smiled and reached up to place a playful peck on Kurt's lips before bounding out of his lap and extending his hand to his smiling man while waggling his fingers and eyebrows.

"Come on, bello. Is time to be social."

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><p>Kurt and Blaine joined the party at the very entertaining end of a rambly Finn apology to Sam and Mercedes, who he had managed to trip and fall on when Rachel smacked him on the arm and told him to '<em>Look!' <em>and his feet got tangled in one another.

Finn was already very uncoordinated when sober, but seeing him drunk was eerily reminiscent of the expression "bull in a china shop".

After Finn apologized once more (in Italian this time, prompted by a laughing Jeff after hearing his previous English and French apologies which hadn't seemed to do much to mollify Mercedes), Rachel called out for a round of karaoke to kill the final hours before midnight.

"We must sing something! I will be singing classics from the great Piaf, of course, as well as her modern, American, Broadway counterpart, the great Barbara Streisand. I know the words to all her songs from Funny Girl, you know. With magnifique pronunciation too," words which carried little weight when uttered with a heavy French accent and slurred.

"Kurt! Accompagne moi au piano!" Rachel detached herself from Finn's side and proceeded to detach Kurt from Blaine's as she hauled him in a mostly straight line towards the upright piano sitting in the corner.

"Quelque chose de classique mon chou. Et movementé! Milord!" _Something classic, dear. And lively! Milord!_

Kurt simply rolled his eyes, took out the music book he almost needn't look at, and placed his fingers on the keys, playing some quick runs to warm up his fingers before launching himself into one of Rachel's favorite Édith Piaf songs, which they had played and sung together many times before at both of their houses.

_Allez venez, Milord,_

_Vous asseoir à ma table,_

_Il fait si froid dehors,_

_Ici c'est comfortable!_

_Laissez vous faire, Milord,_

_Et prenez bien vos aises,_

_Vos paines sur mon coeur,_

_Et vos pieds sur une chaise,_

_Je suis qu'une fille du port,_

_Une ombre de la rue_

While Rachel sang the slower part of the song and the piano became softer, Kurt took the opportunity to look around the room and see everybody's reactions. Finn looked amazed and dopey as he always did, although Quinn looked surprisingly unaffected by his reaction. In fact she and Thad were sitting quite close under those comforters. Kurt knew they were sick and sharing chicken broth and the blankets, but maybe they were sharing something else too...

He kept looking, noticing Wes and David were coming up with harmonic back-up on the fly for Rachel (who looked entirely too pleased about it), and Nick and Jeff following their lead in a perfect, well practiced third above that spoke of hours of chorus practice. Santana merely frowned upon the spectacle on top of Brittany's lap, looking even more sour when she realized that Brittany was enraptured by the music and was staring at him and Rachel with child-like wonder. The chorus started up again and Kurt focused on the keys once more, this time a joyful Mercedes, a petulant Santana and a slightly hoarse Quinn joining in with Rachel, Santana's mood brightening significantly when this caused Brittany to stare at her the way she had at them.

Kurt cut the final dialogue part of the song and brought it home with the la-da-da's to which he himself joined in, his whole body swinging over the keys with the motion of the song, bringing it all to a crescendo that ended to a round of loud applause.

The loudest of which was Blaine, who was all but yelling out his glee as he went and sat himself beside Kurt on the piano bench before smacking a loud kiss on his cheek and rambling in Italian.

"-davvero, Kurt! Amazing! Want to sing more? Yes? I play now, tell me what."

Kurt could only laugh and try to gather his wits about him as Blaine started playing the piano expertly, repeating the melodic lines Kurt had been playing mere seconds ago.

After a single listen.

"_You_ are amazing! You have not heard this sing before?" Kurt stared in shock as Blaine played the song almost perfectly, adding trills and embellishments all his own even as he looked at Kurt.

"I am not amazing, just have played piano a long, long time. Pick a song," he said, pointing to the still open and still ignored song book with a jerk of his chin. "I want to hear you sing."

Kurt reached out with slightly trembling fingers and flipped to the page of his favourite Piaf song. Normally Kurt would not be one to shy away from a performance but as he arrived to the correct page and stared at the beautiful introduction which had been scribbled over in pencil as he learned to play it, he simply kept flipping until he got to another song.

"This is one of her most known songs. I like it almost best. Can you play it?"

It had a simple beat, and was not all that difficult to play and with little else than a quick overview, Blaine began playing the song, slow and purposeful, with an ease that spoke of years of sight-reading but with none of the stiffness Kurt would have expected.

"_Non! Rien de rien... Non! Je ne regrette rien..." _

Kurt sang with a loud clear voice that encompassed the entire room, but he had eyes only for Blaine, who glanced back at him as often as he could. Kurt sang with a deep passion, relating the emotional message as powerfully as Édith herself. No, Kurt did not regret his life; not the suffering, not the pain and the heartache, the good or the bad because someway, somehow, it had all conspired to bring him here, to this moment, with a beautiful boy staring at him like he was something astounding, playing the piano for him.

Because he had wanted to hear Kurt's voice.

Kurt didn't have to fight to sing, fight to be heard. For once in his life, somebody was reaching out and lending an ear, wanting to hear everything Kurt had to reveal, every whisper, anything and everything at all. Blaine didn't have to say as much; even if he _did_ Kurt might not understand it. But when he looked into his bright brown eyes, so incredibly raw, and tender and _beautiful, _Kurt simply knew.

"_Car ma vie, car mes joies, aujourd'hui, ça commence avec toi!"_

Blaine played the final bars as Kurt his final note and a few seconds later, both were nothing but an echo ringing out in the silence of the room. A silence broken by the deafening applause from their friends, which brought Blaine out of his trance long enough to turn his body towards Kurt. His eyes were bright and his mouth was open and his jaw was moving as though he were trying to formulate words but couldn't find them, and as much was probably true. Kurt and Blaine didn't always have the words, not yet anyway.

Kurt simply leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips.

They still managed to get their messages across.

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><p>There were more songs played after that, although none anymore by Kurt or Blaine who had retreated to their room in lieu of their window sill.<p>

They had held hands as Kurt pulled Blaine along up the stairs, oblivious both the the catcalls coming from theirs friends, both stuck in their little speechless world. Kurt could swear that he felt Blaine heartbeat, as fast and loud as his own, beating through their laced fingers. When they reach the top floor, Kurt stopped at their door and turned around to face Blaine, locking gazes for the first time since after their kiss at the piano.

The heat in Blaine's gaze was still there, burning hotter in Kurt's veins that he had ever thought possible, and by the tiny broken sound that came from Blaine's lips, he must have seen something along the same lines within his baby blues. They hadn't touched yet, not aside from their intertwined fingers, but somehow, Blaine already looked flushed. Wrecked. Kurt shivered at the images his brain supplied of how he could keep Blaine looking like that. He leaned forward and brought his face close to Blaine's, close enough to feel the heat emanating from him, the raggedness of his breath coming from lips that had parted at his advance, but he did not press his own against them. Kurt pressed their foreheads together and closed his eyes, rubbing his nose along Blaine's cheek as his free hand opened the door. He stayed close as he pulled Blaine inside.

It was only once the door was closed behind them and Blaine's back was pushed up against it that Kurt finally (_finally)_ connected their lips again, and neither could do anything more than moan at the contact.

It felt like electricity. Like fire. Like pure, unadulterated passion, the likes of which neither had ever felt nor been prepared for. It charged the air and changed the atmosphere suddenly, breaking through the dreamy haze that had surrounded them both and had them grasping at eachother, Blaine's hands coming up to clutch desperately at Kurt's back, bunching the fabric of his sweater as Kurt's hands came up to frame Blaine's face. Tongues danced, lips shifted and their bodies were pulled close, as though trying to eliminate any space between them, not even air. Eventually though, it clicked that there were still clothes between them, which prompted them both to claw at the other's shirts and sweaters, wanting nothing more than to feel the other's skin on their own.

It was surprisingly Blaine who succeeded to remove Kurt's sweater first, the motivation of unveiling what all those layers covered all the time working in his favor, although Kurt still had a white undershirt laying in wait. Kurt had undone Blaine's bow tie and had worked his way down to the final three buttons of Blaine's shirt, grazing at the skin he revealed button by button, just as Blaine had imagined on his first day here. Blaine shivered in anticipation and couldn't hold back a moan as Kurt got distracted from his mission in favour of pressing his lips to the dip between his collarbones that had been revealed to Kurt moments ago.

Kurt used nothing but feather light presses of his lips, driving Blaine to madness. He threw his head back against the door and arched his back towards Kurt, silently begging for more.

"Oh dio, Kurt. Please- I-I can't-"

"Shhh..." Kurt undid the last button on Blaine's shirt and brought his hands firmly up his sides, stroking him in a comforting manner, as he mutter more nonsensical soothing noises between kisses to the shorter boy's collarbones, shoulders and sternum. "It's okay."

Blaine only whined, and brought a hand up to the back of Kurt's head, lightly tugging at his hair (at which Kurt let out a soft hum) but doing nothing to stop Kurt from what he was doing. After all he didn't know if he wanted this torture to stop or never to end.

"My bed?" Kurt asked, looking up from half-lidded eyes, placing an inquisitive kiss on his right pec.

Blaine nodded jerkily, whining low at the back of his throat.

Kurt kept his hands at Blaine's sides and started pulling at him as he walked them backwards to his bed at the far end of the room, only removing them after Blaine's feet seemed to follow on their own to pull his undershirt over his head.

It was like a switch was flipped in Blaine's brain, and what had been nothing more than a moth attracted to the flame, pinned by his desires, became a predator, eying Kurt as though he were a prey he looked forward to devouring. Kurt shivered and smiled as he felt the bed hit the back of his knees and he sat down on the bed. He scooted backwards, not breaking eye contact with Blaine as the boy crawled over him purposefully.

When Blaine brought their lips together, there was nothing innocent and tentative about it, it was driven by pure lust, the evidence of which Kurt felt pressed against his thigh. Kurt moaned and shifted their bodies so his own throbbing erection was pressed against Blaine's, and their bodies instinctively picked up a rhythm that soon had them panting into each other's lips.

"God, Kurt- I-"

"I know- ahh- me too."

Any other words Kurt could have tried to come up with were swallowed by Blaine, who it seemed had decided to put his mouth to better use than to trying to come up with the words to express the feeling swelling in his chest. Blaine pressed down harder, pinning Kurt to the mattress by the hips, and broke their kiss to groan and mouth against Kurt's extended neck as his hips started humping more erratically, both he and Kurt losing their amateur rhythm and breaking off into a disjointed dance, moving faster and faster, perfectly imperfect until Kurt let out a soft cry and arched one last time against Blaine's body, which took it's cue from him and he bit down on Kurt's shoulder as he groaned through his climax.

Blaine's boneless body slumped down onto Kurt's heaving chest as they both tried to catch their breath, Kurt's arms reaching up to envelop the boy. He ran his hands up and down Blaine's sweaty back, one of them tangling itself in his drenched curls, and Blaine untucked one of his arms from Kurt's sides to stroke at the chest his head was laying on, once more feeling the heartbeat under his fingertips, this time significantly faster than when they were on their window sill.

"That was-"

"Amazing."

Blaine turned his head and planted a firm kiss to the very center of Kurt's sternum, bringing his other arm up, crossing them over Kurt's chest and he rest his chin on them, Kurt carding his fingers gently through his hair.

"I love you, Kurt."

Kurt's fingers froze for a split second, shock registering on his relaxed features briefly before a radiantly soft smile overcame them.

"And I love you, Blaine."

Distantly he heard shouts of numbers being counted off by their friends, ending in a loud shout and blowing noise-makers.

"Happy New Year, mon amour."

"Happy New Year, bello."

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><p><strong>And that was my formal apology by way of Klaine smutty fluff. Here (watch?v=XBW-UEbOfyQ&amp;feature=endscreen&amp;NR=1) is the link to Milord, in which Piaf tells to story briefly in English and here (watch?v=hZPXbKoRfIk) is Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien, live with english subtitles. I'd love to hear from you, even if it is only to yell at me! (PS: A lot of new readers started tracking this while I was on my not-so-brief work hiatus; who sent you? I still don't know :)**


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